I Have Found My Safe Haven
by edwardheartbellaforever
Summary: A young woman named Bella with a mysterious past lands in Southport, North Carolina where her bond with a widower named Edward forces her to confront the dark secret that haunts her. This is based of the story, Safe Haven written by Nicholas Sparks. AU-Human
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**(Bella's POV)**

As I wound my way among the tables, a breeze from the Atlantic rippled through my hair. Carrying three plates in my left hand and another in my right, I wore jeans and a T-shirt that read Newton's: Try Our Fish Just for the Halibut. I brought the plates to four men wearing polo shirts; the one closest to me caught my eye and smiled. Though he tried to act as though he was just a friendly guy, I knew he was watching me as I walked away. Angela had mentioned the men had come from Wilmington and were scouting locations for a movie.

After retrieving a pitcher of sweet tea, I refilled their glasses before returning to the waitress station. I stole a glance at the view. It was late April, the temperature hovering just around perfect, and blue skies stretched to the horizon. Beyond me, the Intracoastal was calm despite the breeze and seemed to mirror the color of the sky. A dozen seagulls perched on the railing, waiting to dart beneath the tables if someone dropped a scrap of food.

Mike Newton, the owner, hated them. He called them rats-with-wings, and he'd already patrolled the railing twice wielding a wooden plunger, trying to scare them off. Angela had leaned toward me and confessed that she was more worried about where the plunger had been than she was about the seagulls. I said nothing.

I started another pot of sweet tea, wiping down the station. A moment later, she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. I turned to see Mike's daughter, Kennedy. A pretty, ponytailed nineteen-year-old, she was working part-time as the restaurant hostess. "Bella—can you take another table?" I scanned my tables, running the rhythm in my head. "Sure." I nodded.

Angela walked down the stairs. From nearby tables I could hear snippets of conversations—people talking about friends or family, the weather or fishing. At a table in the corner, I saw two people close their menus. I hustled over and took the order, but didn't linger at the table trying to make small talk, like Jessica did. She wasn't good at small talk, but she was efficient and polite and none of the customers seemed to mind.

I'd been working at the restaurant since early March. Mike had hired me on a cold, sunny afternoon when the sky was the color of robins' eggs. When he'd said I could start work the following Monday, it took everything I had not to cry in front of him. I'd waited until I was walking home before breaking down. At the time, I was broke and hadn't eaten in two days.

I refilled waters and sweet teas and headed to the kitchen. Eric, one of the cooks, winked at me as heal ways did. Two days ago he'd asked me out, but I told him that I didn't want to date anyone at the restaurant. I had the feeling he would try again and hoped my instincts were wrong.

"I don't think it's going to slow down today," Eric commented. He had black hair and was lanky, perhaps a month or two younger than me, and still lived with his parents. "Every time we think we're getting caught up, we get slammed again."

"It's a beautiful day."

"But why are people here? On a day like today, they should be at the beach or out fishing. Which is exactly what I'm doing when I finish up here."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Can I drive you home later?"

He offered to drive me at least twice a week. "Thank you, no. I don't live that far."

"It's no problem," he persisted. "I'd be glad to do it."

"Walking's good for me."

I handed him my ticket and Eric pinned it up on the wheel and then located one of my orders. I carried the order back to my section and dropped it off at a table. Newton's was a local institution, a restaurant that had been in business for almost thirty years. In the time I'd been working there, I'd come to recognize the regulars, and as I crossed the restaurant floor my eyes traveled over them to the people she hadn't seen before. Couples flirting, other couples ignoring each other. Families. No one seemed out of place and no one had come around asking for me, but there were still times when my hands began to shake, and even now I slept with a light on.

My short hair was chestnut brown; I'd been dyeing it in the kitchen sink of the tiny cottage I rented. I wore no makeup and knew my face would pick up a bit of color, maybe too much. I reminded myself to buy sunscreen, but after paying rent and utilities on the cottage, there wasn't much left for luxuries. Even sunscreen was a stretch. Newton's was a good job and I was glad to have it, but the food was inexpensive, which meant the tips weren't great. On my steady diet of rice and beans, pasta and oatmeal, I'd lost weight in the past four months. I could feel my ribs beneath my shirt, and until a few weeks ago, I had dark circles under my eyes that I thought would never go away.

"I think those guys are checking you out," Jessica said, nodding toward the table with the four men from the movie studio. "Especially the brown-haired one. The cute one."

"Oh," I said and started another pot of coffee. Anything I said to Jessica was sure to get passed around, so I usually said very little to her.

"What? You don't think he's cute?"

"I didn't really notice."

"How can you not notice when a guy is cute?" Jessica stared at me in disbelief.

"I don't know," I answered.

Like Eric, Jessica was a couple of months younger than me, maybe twenty-five or so. An auburn-haired, green-eyed minx, she dated Mike who also made deliveries for the home improvement store on the other side of town. Like everyone else in the restaurant, she'd grown up in Southport, which she described as being a paradise for children, families, and the elderly, but the most dismal place on earth for single people. At least once a week, she told me that she was planning to move to Seattle, which had bars and clubs and a lot more shopping. She seemed to know everything about everybody. Gossip, I sometimes thought, was Jessica's real profession.

"I heard Eric asked you out," she said, changing the subject, "but you said no."

"I don't like to date people at work." I pretended to be absorbed in organizing the silverware trays.

"We could double-date. Eric and Mike go fishing together."

I wondered if Eric had put her up to it or whether it was Jessica's idea. Maybe both. In the evenings, after the restaurant closed, most of the staff stayed around for a while, visiting over a couple of beers. Aside from myself, everyone had worked at Newton's for years.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I demurred.

"Why not?"

"I had a bad experience once," I said. "Dating a guy from work, I mean. Since then, I've kind of made it a rule not to do it again."

Jessica rolled her eyes before hurrying off to one of her tables. I dropped off two checks and cleared empty plates. I kept busy, as she always did, trying to be efficient and invisible. I kept my head down and made sure the waitress station was spotless. It made the day go by faster. I didn't flirt with the guy from the studio, and when he left he didn't look back.

I worked both the lunch and dinner shift. As day faded into night, I loved watching the sky turning from blue to gray to orange and yellow at the western rim of the world. At sunset, the water sparkled and sailboat sheeled in the breeze. The needles on the pine trees seemed to shimmer. As soon as the sun dropped below the horizon, Mike turned on the propane gas heaters and the coils began to glow like jack-o'-lanterns. My face had gotten slightly sunburned, and the waves of radiant heat made my skin sting.

Leah and Sam replaced Jessica and Eric in the evening. Leah was a high school senior who giggled a lot, and Sam had been cooking dinners at Newton's for nearly twenty years. He was married with two kids and had a tattoo of a werewolf on his right forearm. He weighed close to two hundred pounds and in the kitchen his face was always shiny.

The dinner rush lasted until nine. When it began to clear out, I cleaned and closed up the wait station. I helped the busboys carry plates to the dishwasher while my final tables finished up. At one of them was a young couple and I'd seen the rings on their fingers as they held hands across the table. They were attractive and happy, and I felt a sense of déjà vu. I had been like them once, a long time ago, for just a moment. Or so I thought, because I learned the moment was only an illusion. I turned away from the blissful couple, wishing that I could erase my memories forever and never have that feeling again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**(Bella's POV)**

The next morning, I stepped onto the porch with a cup of coffee, the floorboards creaking beneath my bare feet, and leaned against the railing. Lilies sprouted amid the wild grass in what once was a flowerbed, and I raised the cup, savoring the aroma as I took a sip.

I liked it here. Southport was different from Seattle or Vancouver, with their endless sounds of traffic and smells and people rushing along the sidewalks, and it was the first time in my life that I had a place to call my own. The cottage wasn't much, but it was mine and out of the way and that was enough. It was one of two identical structures located at the end of a gravel lane, former-hunting cabins with wooden-plank walls, nestled against a grove of oak and pine trees at the edge of a forest that stretched to the coast. The living room and kitchen were small and the bedroom didn't have a closet, but the cottage was furnished, including rockers on the front porch, and the rent was a bargain.

The place wasn't decaying, but it was dusty from years of neglect, and the landlord offered to buy the supplies if I was willing to spruce it up. Since I'd moved in, I'd spent much of my free time on all fours or standing on chairs, doing exactly that. I scrubbed the bathroom until it sparkled; I washed the ceiling with a damp cloth. I wiped the windows with vinegar and spent hours on my hands and knees, trying my best to remove the rust and grime from the linoleum in the kitchen. I'd filled holes in the walls with Spackle and then sanded the Spackle until it was smooth. I'd painted the walls in the kitchen a cheery yellow and put glossy white paint on the cabinets. My bedroom was now a light blue, the living room was beige, and last week, I'd put a new slipcover on the couch, which made it look practically new again.

With most of the work now behind me, I liked to sit on the front porch in the afternoons and read books I'd checked out from the library. Aside from coffee, reading was my only indulgence. I didn't have a television, a radio, a cell phone, or a microwave or even a car, and I could pack all her belongings in a single bag. I was twenty-three years old, a former long-haired brunette with no real friends. I'd moved here with almost nothing, and months later I still had little. I saved half of my tips and every night I folded the money into a coffee can I kept hidden in the crawl space beneath the porch. I kept that money for emergencies and would rather go hungry than touch it. Simply the knowledge that it was there made me breathe easier because the past was always around me and might return at any time. It prowled the world searching for me, and I knew it was growing angrier at every passing day.

"Good morning," a voice called out, disrupting my thoughts. "You must be Bella."

I turned. On the sagging porch of the cottage next door, I saw a woman with long, unruly blonde hair, waving at me. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and wore jeans and a button-up shirt she'd rolled to her elbows.

A pair of sunglasses nested in tangled curls on her head. She was holding a small rug and she seemed to be debating whether or not to shake it before finally tossing it aside and starting toward me. She moved with the energy and ease of someone who exercised regularly.

"Harry Clearwater told me we'd be neighbors."

The landlord, I thought. "I didn't realize anyone was moving in."

"I don't think he did, either. He about fell out of his chair when I said I'd take the place." By then, she'd reached my porch and she held out her hand. "My friends call me Rose," she said.

"Hi," I said, taking it.

"Can you believe this weather? It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

"It's a beautiful morning," I agreed, shifting from one foot to the other. "When did you move in?"

"Yesterday afternoon. And then, joy of joys, I pretty much spent all night sneezing. I think Harry collected as much dust as he possibly could and stored it at my place. You wouldn't believe what it's like in there."

I nodded toward the door. "My place was the same way."

"It doesn't look like it. Sorry, I couldn't help sneaking a glance through your windows when I was standing in my kitchen. Your place is bright and cheery. I, on the other hand, have rented a dusty, spider-filled dungeon."

"Mr. Clearwater let me paint."

"I'll bet. As long as Mr. Clearwater doesn't have to do it, I'll bet he lets me paint, too. He gets a nice, clean place, and I get to do the work." She gave a wry grin. "How long have you lived here?"

I crossed her arms, feeling the morning sun begin to warm my face. "Almost two months."

"I'm not sure I can make it that long. If I keep sneezing like I did last night, my head will probably fall off before then." Rose reached for her sunglasses and began wiping the lenses with her shirt. "How do you like Southport?

"It's a different world, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't sound like you're from around here. I'd guess somewhere up north?"

After a moment, I nodded.

"That's what I thought," Rose went on. "And Southport takes awhile to get used to. I mean, I've always loved it, but I'm partial to small towns."

"You're from here?"

"I grew up here, went away, and ended up coming back. The oldest story in the book, right? Besides, you can't find dusty places like this just anywhere."

I smiled, and for a moment neither said anything. Rose seemed content to stand in front of her, waiting for her to make the next move. I took a sip of coffee, gazing off into the woods, and then remembered my manners.

"Would you like a cup of coffee? I just brewed a pot."

Rose put the sunglasses back on her head, tucking them into her hair. "You know, I was hoping you'd say that. I'd love a cup of coffee. My entire kitchen is still in boxes and my car is in the shop. Do you have any idea what it's like to face the day without caffeine?"

"I have an idea."

"Well, just so you know, I'm a genuine coffee addict. Especially on any day that requires me to unpack. Did I mention I hate unpacking?"

"I don't think you did."

"It's pretty much the most miserable thing there is. Trying to figure out where to put everything, banging your knees as you bump around the clutter. Don't worry—I'm not the kind of neighbor who asks for that kind of help.

But coffee, on the other hand…"

"Come on." I waved her in. "Just keep in mind that most of the furniture came with the place."

After crossing the kitchen, I pulled a cup from the cupboard and filled it to the brim and handed it to Rose.

"Sorry, I don't have any cream or sugar."

"Not necessary," Rose said, taking the cup. She blew on the coffee before taking a sip. "Okay, it's official," she said.

"As of now, you're my best friend in the entire world. This is soooo good."

"You're welcome," she said.

"So Clearwater said you work at Newton's?"

"I'm a waitress."

"Is Sam still working there?" When I nodded, Rose went on. "He's been there since before I was in high school. Does he still make up names for everyone?"

"Yes," I said.

"How about Jessica? Is she still talking about how cute the customers are?"

"Every shift."

"And Eric? Is he still hitting on new waitresses?"

When I nodded again, Rose laughed. "That place never changes."

"Did you work there?"

"No, but it's a small town and Newton's is an institution. Besides, the longer you live here, the more you'll understand that there are no such things as secrets in this place. Everyone knows everyone's business, and some people, like, let's say… Jessica…have raised gossip to an art form. It used to drive me crazy. Of course, half the people in Southport are the same way. There isn't much to do around here but gossip."

"But you came back."

Rose shrugged. "Yeah, well. What can I say? Maybe I like the crazy." She took another sip of her coffee and motioned out the window. "You know, as long as I'd lived here, I wasn't even aware these two places existed."

"The landlord said they were hunting cottages. They used to be part of the plantation before he turned them into rentals."

Rose shook her head. "I can't believe you moved out here."

"You did, too," I pointed out.

"Yes, but the only reason I considered it was because I knew I wouldn't be the only woman at the end of a gravel road in the middle of nowhere. It's kind of isolated."

Which is why I was more than happy to rent it, I thought to herself. "It's not so bad. I'm used to it by now."

"I hope I get used to it," she said. She blew on the coffee, cooling it off. "So what brought you to Southport? I'm sure it wasn't the exciting career potential at Newton's. Do you have any family around here? Parents? Brothers or sisters?"

"No," I said. "Just me."

"Following a boyfriend?"

"No."

"So you just… moved here?"

"Yes."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

I didn't answer. They were the same questions that Mike and Jessica and Eric had asked. She knew there were no ulterior motives behind the questions, it was just natural curiosity, but even so, I was never quite sure what to say, other than to state the truth.

"I just wanted a place where I could start over."

Rose took another sip of coffee, seemingly mulling over her answer, but surprising me, she asked no follow-up questions. Instead, she simply nodded.

"Makes sense to me. Sometimes starting over is exactly what a person needs. And I think it's admirable. A lot of people don't have the courage it takes to do something like that."

"You think so?"

"I know so," she said. "So, what's on your agenda today? While I'm whining and unpacking and cleaning until my hands are raw."

"I have to work later but other than that, not much. I need to run to the store and pick up some things."

"Are you going to visit Black's or head into town?"

"I'm just going to Black's," she said.

"Have you met the owner there? The guy with gray hair?"

I nodded. "Once or twice."

Rose finished her coffee and put the cup in the sink before sighing. "All right," she said, sounding less than enthusiastic. "Enough procrastinating. If I don't start now, I'm never going to finish. Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

Rose gave a little wave. "It was nice meeting you, Katie."

From her kitchen window, I saw Rose shaking the rug she'd set aside earlier. She seemed friendly enough, but I wasn't sure whether she was ready to have a neighbor. Although it might be nice to have someone to visit with now and then, I'd gotten used to being alone.

Then again, I knew that living in a small town meant that my self-imposed isolation couldn't last forever. I had to work and shop and walk around town; some of the customers at the restaurant already recognized me.

And besides, I had to admit I;s enjoyed chatting with Rose. For some reason, I felt that there was more to Rose than met the eye, something… trustworthy, even if I couldn't explain it. Rose was also a single woman, which was a definite plus. I didn't want to imagine how I would have reacted had a man moved in next door, and I wondered why I'd never even considered the possibility.

Over by the sink, I washed out the coffee cups then put them back into the cupboard. The act was so familiar—putting two cups away after coffee in the morning—and for an instant, I felt engulfed by the life I'd left behind. My hands began to tremble, and pressing them together I took a few deep breaths until they finally stilled. Two months ago, I wouldn't have been able to do that; even two weeks ago, there had been little I could do to stop it. While I was glad that these bouts of anxiety no longer overwhelmed me, it also meant I was getting comfortable here, and that scared me. Because being comfortable meant I might lower my guard, and I could never let that happen.

Even so, I was grateful to have ended up in Southport. It was a small historic town of a few thousand people, located at the mouth of the Cape Fear River, right where it met the Intracoastal. It was a place with sidewalks and shade trees and flowers that bloomed in the sandy soil. Spanish moss hung from the tree branches, while kudzu climbed the wizened trunks. I had watched kids riding their bikes and playing kick ball in the streets, and had marveled at the number of churches, one on nearly every corner. Crickets and frogs sounded in the evening, and I thought again that this place had felt right, even from the beginning. It felt safe, as if it had somehow been beckoning to me all along, promising sanctuary.

I slipped on my only pair of shoes, a pair of beat-up Converse sneakers. The chest of drawers stood largely empty and there was almost no food in the kitchen, but as I stepped out of the house and into the sunshine and headed toward the store, I thought to myself, this is home. Drawing in a deeply scented breath of hyacinth and fresh-cut grass, I knew I hadn't been happier in years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**(Edward's POV)**

My hair had turned brown when I was in my early twenties, prompting some good-natured ribbing from my friends. It hadn't been a slow change, either, a few hairs here and there gradually turning to copper. Rather, in January I'd had a head of brown hair and by the following January, there was scarcely a copper hair left. My two older brothers, Emmett and Jasper, had been spared, though in the last couple of years, they'd picked up some copper in their sideburns. Neither my mom nor my dad could explain it; as far as they knew, I was an anomaly on both sides of the family.

Strangely, it hadn't bothered me. In the army, I sometimes suspected that it had aided in my advancement.

I been with Criminal Investigation Division, or CID, stationed in Germany and Georgia, and had spent ten years investigating military crimes, everything from soldiers going AWOL, to burglary, domestic abuse, rape, and even murder. I'd been promoted regularly, finally retiring as a major at twenty-eight.

After punching my ticket and ending my career with the military, I moved to Southport, my wife's hometown.

I was newly married with his first child on the way, and though my immediate thought was that I would apply for a job in law enforcement, my father-in-law had offered to sell me the family business.

It was an old-fashioned country store, with white clapboard siding, blue shutters, a sloped porch roof, and a bench out front, the kind of store that enjoyed its heyday long ago and had mostly disappeared. The living quarters were on the second floor. A massive magnolia tree shaded one side of the building, and an oak tree stood out front. Only half of the parking lot was asphalt—the other half was gravel—but the lot was seldom empty.

My father-in-law had started the business before Rosalie was born, when there wasn't much more than farmland surrounding him. But my father-in-law prided himself on understanding people, and he wanted to stock what ever they happened to need, all of which lent a cluttered organization to the place. I felt the same way and kept the store largely the same. Five or six aisles offered groceries and toiletries, refrigerator cases in the back overflowed with everything from soda and water to beer and wine, and as in every other convenience store, this one had racks of chips, candy, and the kind of junk food that people grabbed as they stood near the cash register.

But that's where the similarity ended. There was also assorted fishing gear along the shelves, fresh bait, and a grill manned by Roger Thompson, who'd once worked on Wall Street and had moved to Southport in search of a simpler life. The grill offered burgers, sandwiches, and hot dogs as well as a place to sit. There were DVDs for rent, various kinds of ammunition, rain jackets and umbrellas, and a small offering of bestselling and classic novels. The store sold spark plugs, fan belts, and gas cans, and I was able to make duplicates of keys with a machine in the back room. I had three gasoline pumps, and another pump on the dock for any boats that needed to fill up, the only place to do so aside from the marina. Rows of dill pickles, boiled peanuts, and baskets of fresh vegetables sat near the counter.

Surprisingly, it wasn't hard to keep up with the inventory. Some items moved regularly, others didn't. Like my father-in-law, I had a pretty good sense of what people needed as soon as they walked in the store. I'd always noticed and remembered things that other people didn't, a trait that had helped me immeasurably in my years working CID. Nowadays I was endlessly tinkering with the items I stocked, in an attempt to keep up with the changing tastes of my customers.

Never in my life had I imagined doing something like this, but it had been a good decision, if only because it allowed him to keep an eye on the kids. Noah was in school, but Lexi wouldn't start until the fall, and she spent her days with me in the store. I'd set up a play area behind the register, where my bright and talkative daughter seemed most happy. Though only five, she knew how to work the register and make change, using a step stool to reach the buttons. I always enjoyed the expressions on strangers' faces when she started to ring them up.

Still, it wasn't an ideal childhood for her, even if she didn't know anything different. When I was honest with myself, I had to admit that taking care of kids and the store took all the energy I had. Sometimes, I felt as though I could barely keep up—making Noah's lunch and dropping him off at school, ordering from his suppliers, meeting with vendors, and serving the customers, all while keeping Lexi entertained. And that was just for starters. The evenings, I sometimes thought, were even busier. I tried my best to spend time doing kid things with them—going on bike rides, flying kites, and fishing with Noah, but Lexi liked to play with dolls and do arts and crafts, and I'd never been good at those things. Add in making dinner and cleaning the house, and half the time, it was all I could do to keep my head above water. Even when I finally got the kids in bed, I found it nearly impossible to relax because there was always something else to do. I wasn't sure if I even knew how to relax anymore.

After the kids went to bed, I spent the rest of my evenings alone. Though I seemed to know most everyone in town, I had few real friends. The couples that Rosalie and I sometimes visited for barbecues or dinners had slowly but surely drifted away. Part of that was my own fault—working at the store and raising my kids took most of my time—but sometimes I got the sense that I made them uncomfortable, as if reminding them that life was unpredictable and scary and that things could go bad in an instant.

It was a wearying and sometimes isolating lifestyle, but I remained focused on Noah and Lexi. Though less frequent than it once had been, both of them had been prone to nightmares with Rosalie gone. When they woke in the middle of the night, sobbing inconsolably, I would hold them in my arms and whisper that everything was going to be all right, until they were finally able to fall back asleep. Early on, all of them had seen a counselor; the kids had drawn pictures and talked about their feelings. It hadn't seemed to help as much as I'd hoped it would.

Their nightmares continued for almost a year. Once in a while, when I colored with Lexi or fished with Noah, they'd grow quiet and I knew they were missing their mom. Lexi sometimes said as much in a babyish, trembling voice, while tears ran down her cheeks. When that happened, I was sure I could hear my heart breaking, because I knew there was nothing I could do or say to make things any better. The counselor had assured me that kids were resilient and that as long as they knew they were loved, the nightmares would eventually stop and the tears would become less frequent.

Time proved the counselor right, but now I faced another form of loss, one that left him equally heartbroken. The kids were getting better, he knew, because their memories of their mom were slowly but surely fading away. They'd been so young when they'd lost her—four and three—and it meant that the day would come when their mother would become more an idea than a person to them. It was inevitable, of course, but somehow it didn't seem right to me that they would never remember the sound of Rosalie's laughter, or the tender way she'd held them as infants, or know how deeply she'd once loved them.

I never been much of a photographer. Rosalie had always been the one who reached for the camera, and consequently, there were dozens of photographs of me with the kids. There were only a few that included Rosalie, and though I made it a point to page through the album with Noah and Lexi while I told them about their mother, I suspected that the stories were becoming just that: stories. The emotions attached to them were likes and castles in the tide, slowly washing out to sea. The same thing was happening with the portrait of Rosalie that hung in my bedroom. In their first year of marriage, I arranged to have her portrait taken, despite her protests.

I was glad for that. In the photo, she looked beautiful and independent, the strong-willed woman who'd captured my heart, and at night, after the kids were in bed, I would sometimes stare at my wife's image, my emotions in turmoil. But Noah and Lexi barely noticed the photo at all.

I thought of her often, and I missed the companionship they'd once shared and the friendship that had been the bedrock of their marriage at its best. And when I was honest with myself, I knew I wanted those things again. I was lonely, even though it bothered me to admit it. For months after they lost her, I simply couldn't imagine ever being in another relationship, let alone consider the possibility of loving someone again.

Even after a year, it was the kind of thought I would force from his mind. The pain was too fresh, the memory of the aftermath too raw. But a few months ago, I'd taken the kids to the aquarium and as they'd stood in front of the shark tank, I'd struck up a conversation with an attractive woman standing next to me. Like me, she'd brought her kids, and like me, she wore no ring on her finger. Her children were the same ages as Noah and Lexi, and while the four of them were off pointing at the fish, she'd laughed at something I'd said and I'd felt a spark of attraction, reminding ,e of what I had once had. The conversation eventually came to an end and we went their separate ways, but on the way out, I'd seen her once more. She'd waved at me and there'd been an instant when I contemplated jogging over to her car and asking for her phone number. But I didn't, and a moment later, she was pulling out of the parking lot. I never saw her again.

That night, I waited for the wave of self-reproach and regret to come, but strangely, it didn't. Nor did it feel wrong. Instead, it felt… okay. Not affirming, not exhilarating, but okay, and I somehow knew it meant I was finally beginning to heal. That didn't mean, of course, that I was ready to rush headlong into the single life. If it happened, it happened. And if it didn't? I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. I was willing to wait until I met the right person, someone who not only brought joy back into my life, but who loved my kids as much as I did. I recognized, however, that in this town, the odds of finding that person were tiny. Southport was too small. Nearly everyone I knew was either married or retired or attending one of the local schools. There weren't a lot of single women around, let alone women who wanted a package deal, kids included. And that, of course, was the deal breaker. I might be lonely, I might want companionship, but I wasn't about to sacrifice his kids to get it. We'd been through enough and would always be my first priority.

Still… there was one possibility, I supposed. Another woman interested me, though I knew almost nothing about her, aside from the fact that she was single. She'd been coming to the store once or twice a week since early March. The first time I'd seen her, she was pale and gaunt, almost desperately thin. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have given her a second glance. People passing through town often stopped at the store for sodas or gasoline or junk food; I seldom saw such people again. But she wanted none of those things; instead, she kept her head down as she walked toward the grocery aisles, as if trying to remain unseen, a ghost in human form.

Unfortunately for her, it wasn't working. She was too attractive to go unnoticed. She was in her early-twenties, I guessed, with brown hair cut a little unevenly above her shoulder. She wore no makeup and her high cheekbones and round, wide-set eyes gave her an elegant if slightly fragile appearance.

At the register, I realized that up close she was even prettier than she'd been from a distance. Her eyes were a chocolate color and flecked with gold, and her brief, distracted smile vanished as quickly as it had come. On the counter, she placed nothing but staples: coffee, rice, oatmeal, pasta, peanut butter, and toiletries. I sensed that conversation would make her uncomfortable so I began to ring her up in silence. As I did, I heard her voice for the first time.

"Do you have any dry beans?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," I'd answered. "I don't normally keep those in stock."

As I bagged her items after myanswer, I noticed her staring out the window, absently chewing her lower lip.

For some reason, I had the strange impression that she was about to cry.

I cleared my throat. "If it's something you're going to need regularly, I'd be happy to stock them. I just need to know what kind you want."

"I don't want to bother you." When she answered, her voice barely registered above a whisper.

She paid me in small bills, and after taking the bag, she left the store. Surprising me, she kept walking out of the lot, and it was only then I realized she hadn't driven, which only added to my curiosity.

The following week, there were dry beans in the store. I'd stocked three types: pinto, kidney, and lima, though only a single bag of each, and the next time she came in, I made a point of mentioning that they could be found on the bottom shelf in the corner, near the rice. Bringing all three bags to the register, she'd asked me if I happened to have an onion. I pointed to a small bag I kept in a bushel basket near the door, but she'd shaken her head.

"I only need one," she murmured, her smile hesitant and apologetic. Her hands shook as she counted out her bills, and again, she left on foot.

Since then, the beans were always in stock, there was a single onion available, and in the weeks that followed her first two visits to the store, she'd become something of a regular. Though still quiet, she seemed less fragile, less nervous, as time had gone on. The dark circles under her eyes were gradually fading, and she'd picked up some color during the recent spate of good weather. She'd put on some weight—not much, but enough to soften her delicate features. Her voice was stronger, too, and though it didn't signal any interest in me, she could hold my gaze a little longer before finally turning away.

They hadn't proceeded much beyond the "Did you find everything you needed?" followed by the "Yes, I did. Thank you!" type of conversation, but instead of fleeing the store like a hunted deer, she sometimes wandered the aisles a bit, and had even begun to talk to Lexi when the two of them were alone. It was the first time I'd seen the woman's defenses drop. Her easy demeanor and open expression spoke of an affection for children, and my first thought was that I'd glimpsed the woman she once had been and could be again, given the right circumstances. Lexi, too, seemed to notice something different about the woman, because after she left, Lexi had told me that she'd made a new friend and that her name was Miss Bella.

That didn't mean, however, that Bella was comfortable with me. Last week, after she'd chatted easily with Lexi, I'd seen her reading the back covers of the novels I kept in stock. She didn't buy any of the titles, and when I offhandedly asked as she was checking out if she had a favorite author, I'd seen a flash of the old nervousness. I was struck by the notion that I shouldn't have let slip that I'd been watching her. "Nevermind," I added quickly. "It's not important." On her way out the door, however, she'd paused for a moment, her bag tucked in the crook of her arm. She half-turned in my direction and mumbled, "I like Dickens." With that, she opened the door and was gone, walking up the road.

I'd thought about her with greater frequency since then, but they were vague thoughts, edged with mystery and colored by the knowledge that I wanted to get to know her better. Not that I knew how to go about it. Aside from the year I courted Rosalie, I'd never been good at dating. In college, between swimming and my classes, I had little time to go out. In the military, I'd thrown myself into my career, working long hours and transferring from post to post with every promotion. While I'd gone out with a few women, they were fleeting romances that for the most part began and ended in the bedroom. Sometimes, when thinking back on my life, I barely recognized the man I used to be, and Rosalie, I knew, was responsible for those changes. Yes, it was sometimes hard, and yes, I was lonely. I missed my wife, and though I never told anyone, there were still moments when I could swear I felt her presence nearby, watching over me, trying to make sure I was going to be all right.

Because of the glorious weather, the store was busier than usual for a Sunday. By the time I unlocked the door at seven, there were already three boats tied at the dock waiting for the pump to be turned on. As was typical, while paying for the gas, the boat owners loaded up on snacks and drinks and bags of ice to stow in their boats.

Jacob—who was working the grill, as always—hadn't had a break since he'd put on his apron, and the tables were crowded with people eating sausage biscuits and cheeseburgers and asking for tips about the stock market.

Usually, I worked the register until noon, when I would hand over the reins to Alice, who, like Jacob, was the kind of employee who made running the store much less challenging than it could be. Alice, who'd worked in the fashion world until wanting a break from the world, had "come with the business," so to speak. My father-in-law had hired her several years ago and now, in her mid-twenties, she hadn't showed any signs of slowing down. Her husband who's also my brother, Jasper, was staying on the East coast and taking care of her business and two kids. She viewed the customers as her de facto family and was as intrinsic to the store as the items on the shelves.

Even better, she understood that I needed to spend time with my children away from the store, and she didn't get bent out of shape by having to work on Sundays. As soon as she showed up, she'd slip behind the register and tell me I could go, sounding more like the boss than an employee. Alice was also my babysitter, the only one I trusted to stay with the kids if I had to go out of town. That wasn't common—it had happened only twice in the past couple of years when I'd met up with an old army buddy in Raleigh—but I'd come to view Alice as one of the best things in my life. When I'd needed her most, she'd always been there for me.

Waiting for Alice's arrival, I walked through the store, checking the shelves. The computer system was great at tracking inventory, but I knew that rows of numbers didn't always tell the whole story. Sometimes, I felt I got a better sense by actually scanning the shelves to see what had sold the day before. A successful store required turning over the inventory as frequently as possible, and that meant that I sometimes had to offer items that no other stores offered. I carried homemade jams and jellies; powdered rubs from "secret recipes" that flavored beef and pork; and a selection of locally canned fruits and vegetables. Even people who regularly shopped at the Food Lion or Piggly Wiggly often dropped by on their way home from the store to pick up the local specialty items I made a point of stocking.

Even more important than an item's sales volume, I liked to know when it sold, a fact that didn't necessarily show up in the numbers. I'd learned, for instance, that hot dog buns sold especially well on the weekends but only rarely during the week; regular loaves of bread were just the opposite. Noting that, I'd been able to keep more of both in stock when they were needed, and sales rose. It wasn't much but it added up and enabled me to keep my small business afloat when the chain stores were putting most local shops out of business.

As I perused the shelves, he wondered idly what I was going to do with the kids in the afternoon and decided to take them for a bike ride. Rosalie had loved nothing more than strapping them into the bike stroller and hauling them all over town. But a bike ride wasn't enough to fill the entire afternoon. Maybe they could ride their bikes to the park… they might enjoy that.

With a quick peek toward the front door to make sure no one was coming in, I hurried through the rear storeroom and poked my head out. Noah was fishing off the dock, which was far and away his favorite thing to do.

I didn't like the fact that Noah was out there alone—I had no doubt that some people would regard him as a bad father for allowing it—but Noah always stayed within visual range of the video monitor behind the register. Itvwas a rule, and Noah had always adhered to it. Lexi, as usual, was sitting at her table in the corner behind the register. She'd separated her American Girl doll clothing into different piles, and she seemed content to change her doll from one outfit to the next. Each time she finished, she would look up at me with a bright, innocent expression and ask me how I thought her doll looked now, as if it were possible I would ever say I didn't like it.

Little girls. They could melt the toughest hearts.

I was straightening some of the condiments when I heard the bell on the front door jingle. Raising my head over the aisle, I saw Bella enter the store.

"Hi, Miss Bella," Lexi called out, popping up from behind the register. "How do you think my doll looks?"

From where I was standing, I could barely see Bella's head above the counter, but she was holding…

Vanessa? Rebecca? Whatever the doll with brown hair was called, high enough for Bella to notice.

"She's beautiful, Lexi," Bella answered. "Is that a new dress?"

"No, I've had it for a while. But she hasn't worn it lately."

"What's her name?"

"Vanessa," she said.

Vanessa, I thought. When I complimented Vanessa later, I would sound like a much more attentive father.

"Did you name her?"

"No, she came with the name. Can you help me get her boots on, though? I can't get them on all the way."

I watched as Lexi handed Bella the doll and she began to work on the soft plastic boots. From my own experience, I knew it was harder than it looked. There wasn't a chance a little girl could somehow muscle them on. I had trouble putting them on, but somehow Bella made it seem easy. She handed the doll back and asked,

"How's that?"

"Perfect," Lexi said. "Do you think I should put a coat on her?"

"It's not that cold out."

"I know. But Vanessa gets cold sometimes. I think she needs one." Lexi's head vanished behind the counter and then popped up again. "Which one do you think? Blue or purple?"

Bella brought a finger to her mouth, her expression serious. "I think purple might be good."

Lexi nodded. "That's what I think, too. Thanks."

Bella smiled before turning away, and I focused my attention on the shelves before she caught him staring.

I moved jars of mustard and relish toward the front of the shelf. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bella scoop up a small shopping basket before moving toward a different aisle.

I headed back to the register. When she saw me, I offered a friendly wave. "Good morning," I said.

"Hi." She tried to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but it was too short to catch. "I just have to pick up a few things."

"Let me know if you can't find what you need. Sometimes things get moved around."

She nodded before continuing down the aisle. As I stepped behind the register, I glanced at the video screen. Noah was fishing in the same spot, while a boat was slowly docking.

"What do you think, Daddy?" Lexi tugged on my pant leg as she held up the doll.

"Wow! She looks beautiful." I squatted down next to her. "And I love the coat. Vanessa gets cold sometimes, right?"

"Yup," Lexi said. "But she told me she wants to go on the swings, so she's probably going to change."

"Sounds like a good idea," I said. "Maybe we can all go to the park later? If you want to swing, too."

"I don't want to swing. Vanessa does. And it's all pretend, anyway, Daddy."

"Oh," I said, "okay." I stood again. Scratch going to the park, I thought.

Lost in her own world, Lexi began to undress the doll again. I checked on Noah in the monitor just as a teenager entered the store, wearing nothing but board shorts. He handed over a wad of cash.

"For the pump at the dock," he said before dashing out again.

I rang him up and set the pump as Bella walked to the register. Same items as always, with the addition of a tube of sunscreen. When she peeked over the counter at Lexi, I noticed the changeable color of her eyes.

"Did you find everything you needed?"

"Yes, thank you."

I began loading her bag. "My favorite Dickens novel is Great Expectations," I said. I tried to sound friendly as I put the items in her bag. "Which one is your favorite?"

Instead of answering right away, she seemed startled that I remembered that she'd told me she liked Dickens.

"A Tale of Two Cities," she answered, her voice soft.

"I like that one, too. But it's sad."

"Yes," she said. "That's why I like it."

Since I knew she'd be walking, he double-bagged the groceries.

"I figured that since you've already met my daughter, I should probably introduce myself. I'm Edward," I said.

"Edward Cullen."

"Her name is Miss Bella," Lexi chirped from behind me. "But I already told you that, remember?" I glanced over my shoulder at her. When he turned back, Bella was smiling as she handed the money to him.

"Just Bella," she said.

"It's nice to meet you, Bella." I tapped the keys and the register drawer opened with a ring. "I take it you live around here?"

She never got around to answering. Instead, when I looked up, I saw that her eyes had gone wide in fright.

Swiveling around I saw what she'd caught on the monitor behind him: Noah in the water, fully clothed and arms flailing, in panic. I felt my throat suddenly close and I moved on instinct, rushing out from behind the counter and racing through the store and into the storeroom. Bursting through the door, I knocked over a case of paper towels, sending it flying, but I didn't slow down.

I flung open the back door, adrenaline surging through my system as I hurdled a row of bushes, taking a shortcut to the dock. I hit the wooden planks at full speed. As I launched myself from the dock, I could see shortcut to the dock. I hit the wooden planks at full speed. As I launched myself from the dock, I could see Noah choking in the water, his arms thrashing.

My heart slamming against his rib cage, I sailed through the air, hitting the water only a couple of feet from Noah. The water wasn't deep—maybe six feet or so—and as I touched the soft, unsettled mud of the bottom, I sank up to my shins. I fought my way to the surface, feeling the strain in my arms as I reached for Noah.

"I've got you!" I shouted. "I've got you!"

But Noah was struggling and coughing, unable to catch his breath, and I fought to control him as I pulled him into shallower water. Then, with an enormous heave, I carried Noah up onto the grassy bank, my mind racing through options: CPR, stomach pumping, assisted breathing. I tried to lay Noah down, but Noah resisted.

He was struggling and coughing, and though I could still feel the panic in my own system, I had enough presence of mind to know that it probably meant that Noah was going to be okay.

I didn't know how long it took—probably only a few seconds, but it felt a lot longer—until Noah finally gave a rattling cough, emitting a spray of water, and for the first time was able to catch his breath. He inhaled sharply and coughed again, then inhaled and coughed again, though this time it settled into something that sounded like he was clearing his throat. He drew a few long breaths, still panic-stricken, and only then did the boy seem to realize what had happened.

He reached for me and I folded him tightly in his arms. Noah began to cry, his shoulders shuddering, and I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of what might have been. What would have happened had I not noticed Bella staring at the monitor? What if another minute had passed? The answers to those questions left me shaking as badly as Noah.

In time, Noah's cries began to slow and he uttered the first words since I had pulled him from the water.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," he choked out.

"I'm sorry, too," I whispered in return, and still, I held on to my son, afraid that somehow, if I let go, time would start to run backward, but this time, the outcome would be different.

When I was finally able to loosen my hold on Noah, I found myself gazing at a crowd behind the store.

Jacob was there, as were the customers who'd been eating. Another pair of customers craned their necks, probably just having arrived. And of course, Lexi was there, too. Suddenly I felt like a terrible parent again, because I saw that my little girl was crying and afraid and needed me, too, even though she was nestled in Bella's arms.

It wasn't until both Noah and I had changed into dry clothes that I was able to piece together what had happened. Jacob had cooked both kids hamburgers and fries, and they were all sitting at a table in the grill area, though neither of them showed any interest in eating.

"My fishing line got snagged on the boat as it was pulling out, and I didn't want to lose my fishing rod. I thought the line would snap right away but it pulled me in and I swallowed a bunch of water. Then I couldn't breathe and it felt like something was holding me down." Noah hesitated. "I think I dropped my rod in the river."

Lexi was sitting beside him, her eyes still red and puffy. She'd asked Bella to stay with her for a while, and Bella had remained at her side, holding her hand even now.

"It's okay. I'll head out there in a little while and if I can't find it, I'll get you a new one. But next time, just let go, okay?"

Noah sniffed and nodded. "I'm really sorry," he said.

"It was an accident," I assured him.

"But now you won't let me go fishing."

And risk losing him again? I thought. Not a chance. "We'll talk about that later, okay?" I said instead.

"What if I promise to let go the next time?"

"Like I said, we'll talk about it later. For now, why don't you eat something?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I know. But it's lunchtime and you've got to eat."

Noah reached for a French fry and took a small bite, chewing mechanically. Lexi did the same. At the table, she almost always mimicked Noah. It drove Noah crazy, but he didn't seem to have the energy right now to protest.

I turned to Bella. I swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She stood up from the table and I led her away from the kids. When they were far enough away that I was sure they wouldn't hear, I cleared my throat. "I want to thank you for what you did."

"I didn't do anything," she protested.

"Yes," I said. "You did. Had you not been looking at the monitor, I wouldn't have known what was happening. I might not have reached him in time." I paused. "And also, thank you for taking care of Lexi. She's the sweetest thing in the world, but she's sensitive. I'm glad you didn't leave her alone. Even when we had to go up and change."

"I did what anyone would do," Bella insisted. In the silence that followed, she suddenly seemed to realize how close they were standing and took a half step backward. "I should really be going." Close they were standing and took a half step backward.

"I should really be going."

"Wait," I said. I walked toward the refrigerated cases at the rear of the store. "Do you like wine?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes, but—"

Before she could finish, I turned around and opened the case. I reached up and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay.

"Please," I said, "I want you to have it. It's actually a very good wine. I know you wouldn't think you could get a good bottle of wine here, but when I was in the army, I had a friend who introduced me to wine. He's kind of an amateur expert, and he's the one who picks what I stock. You'll enjoy it."

"You don't need to do that."

"It's the least I can do." I smiled. "As a way to say thank you."

For the first time since they'd met, she held my gaze. "Okay," she finally said.

After gathering her groceries, she left the store. I returned to the table. With a bit more cajoling, Noah and Lexi finished their lunches, while I went to the dock to retrieve the fishing pole. By the time I got back, Alice was already slipping on her apron, and I took the kids for a bike ride. Afterward, I drove them to Wilmington, where they saw a movie and had pizza, the old standbys when it came to spending time with kids. The sun was down and they were tired when they got home, so they showered and put on their pajamas. I lay in bed between them for an hour, reading stories, before finally turning out the lights.

In the living room, I turned on the television and flipped through the channels for a while, but I wasn't in the mood to watch. Instead, I thought about Noah again, and though I knew that my son was safe upstairs, I felt a ripple of the same fear I'd felt earlier, the same sense of failure. I was doing the best I could and no one could love their kids more than I did, but I couldn't help feeling that somehow it wasn't enough.

Later, long after Noah and Lexi had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and pulled out a beer from the refrigerator. I nursed it as I sat on the couch. The memories of the day played in my mind, but this time, my thoughts were of my daughter and the way she'd clung to Bella, her little face buried in Bella's neck.

The last time I'd seen that, I reflected, was when Rosalie had been alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**(Bella's POV)**

April gave way to May and the days continued to pass. The restaurant got steadily busier and the stash of money in my coffee can grew reassuringly thick. I no longer panicked at the thought that I lacked the means to leave this place if I had to.

Even after paying my rent and utilities, along with food, I had extra money for the first time in years. Not a lot, but enough to make me feel light and free. On Friday morning, I stopped at Esme's, a thrift shop that specialized in secondhand clothes. It took most of the morning to sift through all the clothing, but in the end, I bought two pairs of shoes, a couple of pairs of pants, shorts, three stylish T-shirts, and a few blouses, most of which were name brands of one sort or another and looked almost new. It amazed me to think that some women had so many nice clothes that they could donate what would probably cost a small fortune in a department store.

Rose was hanging a wind chime when I got home. Since that first meeting, they hadn't talked much. Rose's job, whatever it was, seemed to keep her busy and I was working as many shifts as I could. At night, I'd notice that Rose's lights were on, but it was too late for her to drop by, and Rose hadn't been there the previous weekend.

"Long time, no talk," Rose said with a wave. She tapped the wind chime, making it ding before crossing the yard.

I reached the porch and put the bags down. "Where've you been?"

Rose shrugged. "You know how it goes. Late nights, early mornings, going here and there. Half the time, I feel like I'm being pulled in every direction." She motioned to the rockers. "You mind? I need a break. I've been cleaning all morning and I just hung that thing. I like the sound, you know."

"Go ahead," I said.

Rose sat and rolled her shoulders, working out the kinks. "You've been getting some sun," she commented. "Did you go to the beach?"

"No," I said. I scooted one of the bags aside to make room for my foot. "I picked up some extra dayshifts the past couple of weeks and I worked outside on the deck."

"Sun, water… what else is there? Working at Newton's must be like being on vacation."

I laughed. "Not quite. But how about you?"

"No sun, no fun for me these days." She nodded toward the bags. "I wanted to drop by and mooch a cup of coffee this morning, but you were already gone."

"I went shopping."

"I can tell. Did you find anything you liked?"

"I think so," I confessed.

"Well, don't just sit there, show me what you bought."

"Are you sure?"

Rose laughed. "I live in a cottage at the end of a gravel road in the middle of nowhere and I've been washing cabinets all morning. What else do I have to excite me?"

I pulled out a pair of jeans and handed them over. Rose held them up, turning them from front to back.

"Wow!" she said. "You must have found these at Esme's. I love that place."

"How did you know I went to Esme's?"

"Because it's not like any of the stores around here sell things this nice. This came from someone's closet. A rich woman's closet. A lot of the stuff is practically new." Lowering the jeans, Rose ran her finger over the stitching on the pockets.

"These are great. I love the designs!" She peeked toward the bag.

"What else did you get?"

I handed over the items one by one, listening as Rose raved about every piece. When the bag was empty, Rose sighed. "Okay, it's official. I'm jealous. And let me guess, there's nothing like any of this left in the store, is there?"

I shrugged, feeling suddenly sheepish. "Sorry," I said. "I was there for a while."

"Well, good for you. These are treasures."

I nodded toward Rose's house. "How's it coming over there?" I asked. "Have you started painting?"

"Not yet."

"Too busy at work?"

Rose made a face. "The truth is, after I got the unpacking done and I cleaned the place from top to bottom, I sort of ran out of energy. It's a good thing you're my friend, since that means I can still come over here where it's bright and cheery."

"You're welcome anytime."

"Thanks. I appreciate that. But evil Mr. Clearwater is going to deliver some cans of paint tomorrow. Which also explains why I'm here. I'm dreading the very idea of spending my entire weekend covered in splatter."

"It's not so bad. It goes fast."

"Do you see these hands?" Rose said, holding them up. "These were made for caressing handsome men and meant to be adorned with pretty nails and diamond rings. They're not made for paint rollers and paint splatter and that kind of manual labor."

I giggled. "Do you want me to come over and help?"

"Absolutely not. I'm an expert in procrastination, but the last thing I want you to think is that I'm incompetent, too. Because I'm actually pretty good at what I do."

A flock of starlings broke from the trees, moving in an almost musical rhythm. The motion of the rockers was making the porch creak slightly.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"I'm a counselor of sorts."

"For the high school?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm a grief counselor."

"Oh," I said. I paused. "I'm not sure what that is."

Rose shrugged. "I visit with people and try to help them. Usually, it's because someone close to them has died."

She paused, and when she went on, her voice was softer. "People react in a lot of different ways and it's up to me to figure out how to help them accept what happened—and I hate that word, by the way, since I've yet to meet anyone who wants to accept it—but that's pretty much what I'm supposed to do. Because in the end, and no matter how hard it is, acceptance helps people move on with the rest of their lives. But sometimes…"

She trailed off. In the silence, she scratched at a piece of flaking paint on the rocker. "Sometimes, when I'm with someone, other issues come up. That's what I've been dealing with lately. Because sometimes people need help in other ways, too."

"That sounds rewarding."

"It is. Even if it has challenges." She turned toward me. "But what about you?"

"You know I work at Newton's."

"But you haven't told me anything else about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," I protested, hoping to deflect the line of questioning.

"Of course there is. Everyone has a story." She paused. "For instance, what really brought you to Southport?"

"I already told you," I said. "I wanted to start over."

Rose seemed to stare right through me as she studied the answer. "Okay," she finally said, her tone light.

"You're right. It's not my business."

"That's not what I said…"

"Yes, you did. You just said it in a nice way. And I respect your answer because you're right; it isn't my business. But just so you know, when you say you wanted to start over, the counselor in me wonders why you felt the need to start over. And more important, what you left behind."

I felt my shoulders tense. Sensing my discomfort, Rose went on.

"How about this?" she asked gently. "Forget I even asked the question. Just know that if you ever want to talk, I'm here, okay? I'm good at listening especially with friends. And believe it or not, sometimes talking helps."

"What if I can't talk about it?" I said in an involuntary whisper.

"Then how about this? Ignore the fact that I'm a counselor. We're just friends, and friends can talk about anything. Like where you were born or something that made you happy as a kid."

"Why is that important?"

"It isn't. And that's the point. You don't have to say anything at all that you don't want to say."

I absorbed her words before squinting at Rose. "You're very good at your job, aren't you?"

"I try," Rose conceded.

I laced my fingers together in my lap. "All right. I was born in Forks," she said.

Rose leaned back in my rocking chair. "I've never been there. Is it nice?"

"It's one of those old towns," I said, "you know the kind. A town filled with good, hard working people who are just trying to make a better life for themselves. And it was pretty, too, especially in the fall, when the leaves began to change. I used to think there was no place more beautiful in the world." I lowered my eyes, half lost in memories. "I used to have a friend, and together we'd lay pennies on the rocks near the river banks.

After the waves formed, we'd scramble around trying to find them, and when we did, we'd always marvel at how any trace of engraving would be completely gone. Sometimes the pennies were still hot. I remember almost burning my fingers one time. When I think back on my childhood, it's mostly about small pleasures like that."

I shrugged, but Rose remained silent, willing me to go on.

"Anyway, that's where I went to school. All the way through. I ended up graduating from high school there, but by then, I don't know… I guess I was tired of… all of it, you know? Small-town life, where every weekend was the same. The same people going to the same parties, the same boys drinking beer in the beds of their pickup trucks.

I wanted something more, but college didn't work out and, long story short, I ended up in Seattle. I worked there for a while, moved around a bit, and now, years later, here I am."

"In another small town where everything stays the same."

I shook my head. "It's different here. It makes me feel…"

When I hesitated, Rose finished the thought for me.

"Safe?"

When my startled gaze met hers, Rose seemed bemused. "It's not that hard to figure out. Like you said, you're starting over and what better place to start over than a place like this? Where nothing ever happens?" She paused. "Well, that's not quite true. I heard there was a little excitement a couple of weeks back. When you dropped by the store?"

"You heard about that?"

"It's a small town. It's impossible not to hear about it. What happened?"

"It was scary. One minute, I was talking to Edward, and when I saw what was happening on the monitor, I guess he noticed my expression because in the next instant, he was racing past me. He moved through that store like lightning, and then Lexi saw the monitor and started to panic. I scooped her up and followed her dad. By the time I got out there, Edward was already out of the water with Noah. I'm just glad he was okay."

"Me, too." Rose nodded. "What do you think of Lexi? Isn't she just the sweetest thing?"

"She calls me Miss Bella."

"I love that little girl," Rose said, drawing her knees up to her chest. "But it doesn't surprise me that the two of you get along. Or that she reached for you when she was scared."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because she's a perceptive little thing. She knows you've got a good heart."

I made a skeptical face. "Maybe she was just scared about her brother, and when her dad took off I was the only one there."

"Don't sell yourself short. Like I said, she's perceptive." Rose pressed on. "How was Edward? Afterward, I mean?"

"He was still shaken up, but other than that, he seemed all right."

"Have you talked to him much since then?"

I gave a noncommittal shrug. "Not too much. He's always nice when I come into the store, and he stocks what I need, but that's about it."

"He's good about things like that," Rose said with assurance.

"You sound like you know him pretty well."

Rose rocked a little in her chair. "I think I do."

I waited for more, but Rose was silent.

"You want to talk about it?" I inquired innocently. "Because talking sometimes helps, especially with a friend."

Rose's eyes sparkled. "You know, I always suspected you were a lot craftier than you let on. Throwing my own words back at me. You should be ashamed."

I smiled but said nothing, just as Rose had done with me. And, surprising me, it worked.

"I'm not sure how much I should say," Rose added. "But I can tell you this: he's a good man. He's the kind of man you can count on to do the right thing. You can see that in how much he loves his kids."

I brought my lips together for a moment. "Did you two ever see each other?"

Rose seemed to choose her words carefully. "Yes, but maybe not in the way you're thinking. And just so we're clear: it was a long time ago and everyone has moved on."

I wasn't sure what to make of her answer but didn't want to press it. "What's his story, by the way? I take it he's divorced, right?"

"You should ask him."

"Me? Why would I want to ask him?"

"Because you asked me," Rose said, arching an eyebrow.

"Which means, of course, that you're interested in him."

"I'm not interested in him."

"Then why would you be wondering about him?"

I scowled. "For a friend, you're kind of manipulative."

Rose shrugged. "I just tell people what they already know, but are afraid to admit to themselves."

I thought about that. "Just so we're clear, I'm officially taking back my offer to help you paint your house."

"You already said you'd do it."

"I know, but I'm taking back the offer."

Rose laughed. "Okay," she said. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?"

"I have to go to work in a little while. Actually, I should probably start getting ready."

"How about tomorrow night? Are you working?"

"No. I have the weekend off."

"Then how about I bring over a bottle of wine? I'm sure I'm going to need it, and I really don't want to be inhaling the paint fumes any longer than I have to. Would that be okay?"

"Actually, that sounds like fun."

"Good." Rose unfolded herself from the chair and stood. "It's a date."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**(Bella's POV)**

Saturday morning dawned with blue skies, but soon clouds began rolling in. Gray and thick, they swirled and twisted in the ever-rising wind. The temperature began to plummet, and by the time I left the house, I had to wear a sweatshirt. The store was a little shy of two miles from my house, maybe half an hour's walk at a steady pace, and I knew I'd have to hurry if I didn't want to get caught in a storm.

I reached the main road just as I heard the thunder rumbling. I picked up the pace, feeling the air thickening around me. A truck sped past, leaving a blast of dust in its wake, and I moved onto the sandy median. The air smelled of salt carried from the ocean. Above me, a red-tailed hawk floated intermittently on updrafts, testing the force of the wind.

The steady rhythm of my footfalls set my mind adrift and I found myself reflecting on her conversation with Rose. Not the stories she'd told, but some of the things Rose had said about Edward. Rose, I decided, didn't know what she was talking about. While I was simply trying to make conversation, Rose had twisted my words into something that wasn't quite true. Granted, Edward seemed like a nice guy, and as Rose said, Lexi was as sweet as could be, but I wasn't interested in him. I barely knew him. Since Noah had fallen in the river, we hadn't said more than a few words to each other, and the last thing I wanted was a relationship of any kind.

So why had it felt like Rose was trying to bring us together?

I wasn't sure, but honestly, it didn't matter. I was glad Rose was coming over tonight. Just a couple of friends, sharing some wine… it wasn't that special, I knew. Other people, other women, did things like that all the time. I wrinkled my brow. All right, maybe not all the time, but most of them probably felt like they could do it if they wanted to, and I supposed that was the difference between them and me. How long had it been since I'd done something that felt normal?

Since my childhood, I admitted. Since those days when I'd put pennies on the track. But I hadn't been completely truthful with Rose. I hadn't told her that I often went to the railroad tracks to escape the sound of my parents arguing, their slurred voices raging at each other. I didn't tell Rose that more than once, I'd been caught in the crossfire, and that when I was twelve, I'd been hit with a snow globe that my father had thrown at my mother. It made a gash in my head that bled for hours, but neither my mom nor my dad had shown any inclination to bring me to the hospital. I didn't tell Rose that my dad was mean when he was drunk, or that I'd never invited anyone, even my best friend, over to my house, or that college hadn't worked out because my parents thought it was a waste of time and money. Or that they'd kicked me out of the house on the day I graduated from high school.

Maybe, I thought, I'd tell Rose about those things. Or maybe I wouldn't. It wasn't all that important. So what if I hadn't had the best childhood? Yes, my parents were alcoholics and often unemployed, but aside from the snow-globe incident, they'd never hurt me. No, I didn't get a car or have birthday parties, but I'd never gone to bed hungry, either, and in the fall, no matter how tight things were, I always got new clothes for school. My dad might not have been the greatest, but he hadn't snuck into my bedroom at night to do awful things, things I knew had happened to my friends. At eighteen, I didn't consider myself scarred. A bit disappointed about college, maybe, and nervous about having to make my own way in the world, but not damaged beyond repair. And I'd made it. Seattle hadn't been all bad. I'd met a couple of nice guys, and I could remember more than one evening I spent laughing and talking with friends from work until the early hours of the morning.

No, I reminded myself, my childhood hadn't defined me, or had anything to do with the real reason I'd come to Southport. Even though Rose was the closest thing to a friend that I had in Southport, Rose knew absolutely nothing about me. No one did.

"Hi, Miss Bella," Lexi piped up from her little table. No dolls today. Instead, she was bent over a coloring book, holding crayons and working on a picture of unicorns and rainbows.

"Hi, Lexi. How are you?"

"I'm good." She looked up from her coloring book. "Why do you always walk here?"

I paused, then came around the corner of the counter and squatted down to Lexi's level. "Because I don't have a car."

"Why not?"

Because I don't have a license, I thought. And even if I did, I can't afford a car. "I'll tell you what. I'll think about getting one, okay?"

"Okay," she said. She held up the coloring book. "What do you think of my picture?"

"It's pretty. You're doing a great job."

"Thanks," she said. "I'll give it to you when I'm finished."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," she said with charming self-assurance. "But I want to. You can hang it on your refrigerator."

I smiled and stood up. "That's just what I was thinking."

"Do you need help shopping?"

"I think I can handle it today. And that way, you can finish coloring."

"Okay," she agreed.

Retrieving a basket, I saw Edward approaching. He waved at me, and though it made no sense I had the feeling that I was really seeing him for the first time. Though his hair was copper, there were only a few lines around the corners of his eyes, but they added to, rather than detracted from, an overall sense of vitality. His shoulders tapered to a trim waist, and I had the impression that he was a man who neither ate nor drank to excess.

"Hey, Bella. How are you?"

"I'm fine. And yourself?"

"Can't complain." He grinned. "I'm glad you came in. I wanted to show you something." He pointed toward the monitor and I saw Noah sitting on the dock holding his fishing pole.

"You let him go back out there?" I asked.

"See the vest he's wearing?"

I leaned closer, squinting. "A life jacket?"

"It took me awhile to find one that wasn't too bulky, or too hot. But this one is perfect. And really, I had no choice. You have no idea how miserable he was, not being able to fish. I can't tell you how many times he begged me to change my mind. I couldn't take it anymore, and I thought this was a solution."

"He's okay with wearing it?"

"New rule—it's either wear it, or don't fish. But I don't think he minds."

"Does he ever catch any fish?"

"Not as many as he'd like, but, yes, he does."

"Do you eat them?"

"Sometimes." He nodded. "But Noah usually throws them back. He doesn't mind catching the same fish over and over."

"I'm glad you found a solution."

"A better father probably would have figured it out beforehand."

For the first time, I looked up at him. "I get the sense you're a pretty good father."

Our eyes held for a moment before I forced myself to turn away. Edward, sensing my discomfort, began rummaging around behind the counter.

"I have something for you," he said, pulling out a bag and placing it on the counter. "There's a small farm I work with that has a hothouse, and they can grow things when other people can't. They just dropped off some fresh vegetables yesterday. Tomatoes, cucumbers, some different kinds of squash. You might want to try them out. My wife swore they were the best she'd ever tasted."

"Your wife?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I still do that sometimes. I meant my late wife. She passed away a couple of years ago."

"I'm sorry," I murmured and my mind flashing back to my conversation with Rose.

What's his story?

You should ask him, Rose had countered.

Rose had obviously known that his wife had died, but hadn't said anything. Odd.

Edward didn't notice that my mind had wandered. "Thank you," he said, his voice subdued. "She was a great."

Edward didn't notice that my mind had wandered. "Thank you," he said, his voice subdued. "She was a great person. You would have liked her." A wistful expression crossed his face. "But anyway," he finally added, "she swore by the place. It's organic, and the family still harvests by hand. Usually, the produce is gone within hours, but I set a little aside for you, in case you wanted to try some." He smiled. "Besides, you're a vegetarian, right? A vegetarian will appreciate these. I promise."

I squinted up at him. "Why would you think I'm a vegetarian?"

"You're not?"

"No."

"Oh," he said, pushing his hands into his pockets. "My mistake."

"It's okay," I said. "I've been accused of worse."

"I doubt that."

"Don't," I thought to myself. "Okay." I nodded. "I'll take the vegetables. And thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**(Edward's POV)**

As Bella shopped, I fiddled around the register, watching her from the corner of my eye. I straightened the counter, checked on Noah, examined Lexi's picture, and straightened the counter again, doing my best to seem busy.

She'd changed in recent weeks. She had the beginnings of a summer tan and her skin had a glowing freshness to it. She was also growing less skittish around me, today being a prime example. No, we hadn't set the world on fire with our scintillating conversation, but it was a start, right?

But the start of what?

From the very beginning, I sensed she was in trouble, and my instinctive response had been to want to help. And of course she was pretty, despite the bad haircut and plain-Jane attire. But it was seeing the way Bella had comforted Lexi after Noah had fallen in the water that had really moved me. Even more affecting had been Lexi's response to Bella. She had reached for Bella like a child reaching for her mother.

It had made my throat tighten, reminding me that as much as I missed having a wife, my children missed having a mother. I knew we were grieving, and I tried to make up for it as best I could, but it wasn't until I saw Bella and Lexi together that I realized that sadness was only part of what we were experiencing. Their loneliness mirrored my own.

It troubled me that I hadn't realized it before.

As for Bella, she was something of a mystery to me. There was a missing element somewhere, something that had been gnawing at me. I watched her, wondering who she really was and what had brought her to Southport.

She was standing near one of the refrigerator cases, something she'd never done before, studying the items behind the glass. She frowned, and as she was debating what to buy, I noticed the fingers of her right hand twisting around her left ring finger, toying with a ring that wasn't there. The gesture triggered something both familiar and long forgotten.

It was a habit, a tic I'd noticed during my years at CID and sometimes observed with women whose faces were bruised and disfigured. They used to sit across from me, compulsively touching their rings, as though they were shackles that bound them to their husbands. Usually, they denied that their husband had hit them, and in the rare instances they admitted the truth, they usually insisted it wasn't my fault; that they'd provoked him. They'd tell me that they'd burned dinner or hadn't done the wash or that he'd been drinking. And always, always, the sesame women would swear that it was the first time it had ever happened, and tell me that they didn't want to press charges because his career would be ruined. Everyone knew the army came down hard on abusive husbands.

Some were different, though—at least in the beginning—and insisted that they wanted to press charges. I would start the report and listen as they questioned why paperwork was more important than making an arrest.

Than enforcing the law, I would write up the report anyway and read their own words back to them before asking them to sign it. It was then, sometimes, that their bravado would fail, and I'd catch a glimpse of the terrified woman beneath the angry surface. Many would end up not signing it, and even those who did would quickly change their minds when their husbands were brought in. Those cases went forward, no matter what the woman decided. But later, when a wife wouldn't testify, little punishment was meted out. I came to understand that only those who pressed charges ever became truly free, because the life they were leading was a prison, even if most of them wouldn't admit it.

Still, there was another way to escape the horror of their lives, though in all my years I'd come across only one who actually did it. I'd interviewed the woman once and she'd taken the usual route of denial and self-blame. But a couple of months later, I'd learned that she'd fled. Not to her family and not to her friends, but somewhere else, a place where even her husband couldn't find her. Her husband, lost in his fury that his wife had left, had exploded after a long night of drinking and had bloodied an MP. He ended up in Leavenworth, and I remembered grinning in satisfaction when I'd heard the news. And when thinking of the man's wife, I smiled, thinking, "Good for you."

Now, as I watched Bella toying with a ring that wasn't there, I felt his old investigative instincts kick in.

There'd been a husband, I thought; her husband was the missing element. Either she was still married or she wasn't, but I had an undeniable hunch that Bella was still afraid of him.

The sky exploded while she was reaching for a box of crackers. Lightning flashed, and a few seconds later thunder crackled before finally settling into a loud, angry rumble. Noah dashed inside right before the downpour started, clutching his tackle box and fishing reel as he entered the store. His face was red and he was panting like a runner crossing the finish line.

"Hey, Dad."

I looked up. "Catch anything?"

"Just the catfish again. The same one I catch every time."

"I'll see you in a little bit for lunch, okay?"

Noah vanished back into the storeroom and I heard him padding up the steps to the house.

Outside, the rain came down hard and the wind whipped sheets of water against the glass. Branches bent in the wind, bowing to a higher power. The dark sky flashed bright with lightning, and thunder boomed, loud enough to shake the windows. From across the store, I saw Bella flinch, her face a mask of surprise and terror, and I found myself wondering whether it was the same way her husband had once seen her.

The door of the store opened and a man rushed in, trailing water on the old wood flooring. He shook rivulets of rain from his sleeves and nodded at me before finally moving toward the grill.

Bella turned back to the shelf that held crackers. I didn't have a big selection, just Saltines and Ritz, the only two that sold regularly, and she reached for the Ritz.

She selected her usual items as well and carried her basket to the register. When I finished ringing up and bagging her items, I tapped the bag I'd put on the counter earlier.

"Don't forget the vegetables."

She glanced at the total on the register. "Are you sure you rang them up?"

"Of course."

"Because the total isn't any more than it usually is."

"I gave you the introductory price."

She frowned, wondering whether to believe me, then finally reached into the bag. She pulled out a tomato and brought it to her nose.

"It smells good."

"I had some last night. They're great with a touch of salt, and the cucumbers don't need anything."

She nodded but her gaze was focused on the door. The wind was driving rain against it in furious waves. The door creaked open, the water fighting to get inside. The world beyond the glass was blurry.

People lingered in the grill. I could hear them mumbling to themselves about waiting for the storm to break.

Bella drew a fortifying breath and reached for her bags.

"Miss Bella!" Lexi cried, sounding almost panicked. She stood, brandishing the picture she'd colored. She'd already torn it from the book. "You almost forgot your picture."

Bella reached for it, brightening as she examined the picture. I noted how—at least for an instant—everything else in the world seemed to be forgotten.

"This is beautiful," she murmured. "I can't wait to hang it up."

"I'll color another one for you the next time you come in."

"I'd like that very much," she said.

Lexi beamed before sitting at the table again. Bella rolled up the picture, making sure not to wrinkle it, and then tucked it into the bag. Lightning and thunder erupted, almost simultaneously this time. Rain hammered the ground and the parking lot was a sea of puddles. The sky was as dark as northern seas.

"Do you know how long the storm is supposed to last?" she asked.

"I heard it was supposed to last most of the day," I answered.

She stared out the door. As she debated what to do, she toyed again with the nonexistent ring. In the silence, Lexi tugged at my shirt.

"You should drive Miss Bella home," she told me.

"She doesn't have a car. And it's raining hard."

I looked at Bella, knowing she'd overheard Lexi. "Would you like a ride home?"

Bella shook her head. "No, that's okay."

"But what about the picture?" Lexi said. "It might get wet."

When Bella didn't answer immediately, I came out from behind the register.

"Come on." I motioned with my head.

"There's no reason to get soaked. My car's right out back."

"I don't want to impose…"

"You're not imposing." I patted my pocket and pulled out my car keys before reaching for the bags. "Let me get those for you," I said, taking them. "Lexi, sweetie? Will you run upstairs and tell Noah I'll be back in ten minutes?"

"Sure, Daddy," she said.

"Jacob?" I called out. "Watch the store and the kids for a bit, would you?"

"No problem." Jacob waved.

I nodded toward the rear of the store. "You ready?" I asked.

We made a frantic dash for the jeep, wielding bent umbrellas against the gale-force winds and blankets of rain.

Lightning continued to flash, making the clouds blink. Once we had settled into our seats, Bella used her hand to wipe the condensation from the window.

"I didn't think it would be like this when I left the house."

"No one ever does, until the storm hits, anyway. We get a lot of the sky is falling on the weather reports, so when something big does hit, people never expect it. If it's not as bad as the reports predicted, we complain. If it's worse than expected, we complain. If it's just as bad as predicted, we complain about that, too, because we'll say that the reports are wrong so often, there was no way to know they'd be right this time. It just gives people something to complain about."

"Like the people in the grill?"

I nodded and grinned. "But they're basically good people. For the most part, they're hardworking, honest, and as kind as the day is long. Any one of them would have been glad to watch the store for me if I'd asked, and they'd account for every penny. It's like that down here. Because deep down, everyone here knows that in a small town like this, we all need one another. It's great, even if it did take some time for me to get used to it."

"You're not from here?"

"No. My wife was. I'm from Spokane. When I first moved here, I remember thinking that there wasn't a chance I'd ever stay in a place like this. I mean, it's a small Southern town that doesn't care what the rest of the world thinks. It takes a little getting used to, at first. But then… it grows on you. It keeps me focused on what's important."

Bella's voice was soft. "What's important?"

I shrugged. "Depends on the person, doesn't it? But right now, for me, it's about my kids. This is home for them and after what they've been through, they need predictability. Lexi needs a place to color and dress her dolls and Noah needs a place to fish, and they both need to know that I'm around whenever they need me. This place, and the store, gives them that, and right now, that's what I want. It's what I need."

I paused, feeling self-conscious about talking so much. "By the way, where am I going, exactly?"

"Keep going straight. There's a gravel road that you'll have to turn on. It's a little bit past the curve."

"You mean the gravel road by the plantation?"

Bella nodded. "That's the one."

"I didn't even know that road went anywhere." I wrinkled my forehead. "That's quite a walk," I said. "What is it? A couple of miles?"

"It's not too bad," she demurred.

"Maybe in nice weather. But today, you'd have to swim home. There's no way you could have walked this far and Lexi's picture would have been ruined."

I noted the flicker of a smile at Lexi's name but she said nothing.

"Someone said you work at Newton's?" I prompted.

She nodded. "I started in March."

"How do you like it?"

"It's okay. It's just a job, but the owner has been good to me."

"Newton?"

"You know him?"

"Everyone knows Mike. Did you know he dresses up like a Confederate general every fall to reenact the famed Battle of Southport? When Sherman burned the town? Which is fine, of course… except that there was never a Battle of Southport in the Civil War. Southport wasn't even called Southport back then, it was called Smithville. And Sherman was never within a hundred miles of here."

"Seriously?" Bella asked.

"Don't get me wrong. I like Mike—he's a good man, and the restaurant is a fixture in this town. Lexi and Noah love the hush puppies there, and Newton's always welcoming whenever we show up. But sometimes, I've wondered what drives him. His family arrived from Russia in the fifties. First generation, in other words. No one in his extended family has probably even heard of the Civil War. But Mike will spend an entire weekend pointing his sword and shouting orders right in the middle of the road in front of the courthouse."

"Why have I never heard about this?"

"Because it's not something the locals like to talk about. It's kind of… eccentric, you know? Even locals, people who really like him, try to ignore him. They'll see Mike in the middle of downtown and they'll turn away and start saying things like, 'Can you believe how beautiful those chrysanthemums are by the courthouse?'"

For the first time since she'd been in the car, Bella laughed. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"It doesn't matter. If you're here in October, you'll see for yourself. But again, don't get me wrong. He's a nice guy and the restaurant is great. After a day at the beach, we almost always stop in there. Next time we come in, we'll ask for you."

She hesitated. "Okay."

"She likes you," I said. "Lexi, I mean."

"I like her. She's a bright spirit—a real personality."

"I'll tell her you said that. And thanks."

"How old is she?"

"She's five. When she starts school in the fall, I don't know what I'm going to do. It'll be so quiet around the store."

"You'll miss her," Bella observed.

I nodded. "A lot. I know she'll enjoy school, but I kind of like having her around."

As I spoke, rain continued to sheet against the windows. The sky flashed on and off like a strobe, accompanied by an almost continuous rumble.

Bella peered out the passenger-side window, lost in her thoughts. I waited, somehow knowing she would break the silence.

"How long were you and your wife married?" Bella finally asked.

"Five years. We dated for a year before that. I met her when I was stationed at Fort Bragg."

"You were in the army?"

"Ten years. It was a good experience and I'm glad I did it. At the same time, I'm glad I'm done."

Bella pointed through the windshield. "There's the turn up ahead," she said.

I turned onto Bella's road and slowed down. The rough gravel surface had flooded during the downpour, and water splashed up to the windows and over the windshield. As I focused on steering the car through the deep puddles, I was suddenly struck by the thought that this was the first time I'd been alone in a car with a woman since my wife had died.

"Which one is it?" I asked, squinting at the outline of two small cottages.

"The one on the right," she said.

I turned into the makeshift drive and pulled as close to the house as I could. "I'll bring the groceries to the door for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"You don't know the way I was raised," I said, jumping out before she could object. I grabbed the bags and ran them to her porch. By the time I set them down and began to shake off, Bella was hurrying toward me, the umbrella I had lent her clutched in her hands.

"Thanks," she called out over the noise of the downpour.

When she offered me the umbrella, I shook my head. "Keep it for a while. Or forever. It doesn't matter. If you walk a lot around here, you're going to need it."

"I can pay you—" she began.

"Don't worry about it."

"But this is from the store."

"It's okay," I said. "Really. But if you don't think you should, then just settle up the next time you're in the store, okay?"

"Edward, really—"

I didn't let her finish. "You're a good customer, and I like to help my customers."

It took a moment for her to answer. "Thank you," she finally said, her eyes, now dark green, fixed on mine. "And thanks for driving me home."

He tipped his head. "Anytime."

What to do with the kids: it was the endless, sometimes unanswerable question he faced on weekends, and as usual, I had absolutely no idea.

With the storm in full fury and showing no signs of letting up, doing anything outside was out of the question.

I could take them to a movie, but there was nothing playing that we'd both be interested in. I could simply let them entertain themselves for a while. I knew lots of parents operated that way. On the other hand, my kids were still young, too young to be left completely to their own devices. More important, they were already on their own a still young, too young to be left completely to their own devices. More important, they were already on their own a lot, improvising ways to keep themselves entertained, simply because of my long hours at the store. I pondered the options as I made grilled cheese sandwiches, but I soon found my thoughts drifting to Bella. While she was obviously doing her best to maintain a low profile, I knew it was almost impossible in a town like this. She was too attractive to blend in, and when people caught on to the fact that she walked everywhere, it was inevitable that talk would start and questions would be asked about her past.

I didn't want that to happen. Not for selfish reasons, but because she was entitled to the kind of life she'd come here to find. A normal life. A life of simple pleasures, the kind that most people took for granted: the ability to go where she wanted when she wanted and live in a home where she felt safe and secure. She also needed a way to get around.

"Hey, kids," I said, putting their sandwiches on plates. "I have an idea. Let's do something for Miss Bella."

"Okay!" Lexi agreed.

Noah, always easygoing, simply nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**(Bella's POV)**

Wind-driven rain blew hard across dark North Carolina skies, sweeping rivers against the kitchen windows.

Earlier that afternoon, while I did my laundry in the sink and after I had taped Lexi's picture to the refrigerator, the ceiling in the living room had begun to leak. I'd placed a pot beneath the drip and had already emptied it twice. In the morning, I planned to call Clearwater, but I doubted whether he'd get around to repairing the leak right away. If, of course, he ever got around to fixing it at all.

In the kitchen, I sliced small cubes from a block of cheddar cheese, nibbling as I moved about. On a yellow plastic plate were crackers and slices of tomatoes and cucumbers, although I couldn't arrange them to look the way I wanted. Nothing looked quite the way I wanted. In my previous home, I'd had a pretty wooden serving board and a silver cheese knife with an engraving of a cardinal, and a full set of wineglasses.

I'd had a dining room table made of cherry, and sheer curtains in the windows, but here the table wobbled and the chairs didn't match, the windows were bare, and Rose and I would have to drink wine from coffee mugs. As horrible as my life had been, I'd loved assembling the pieces of my household, but as with everything I'd left behind, I now viewed them as enemies that had gone over to the other side.

Through the window, I saw one of Rose's lights blink out. I made her way to the front door. Opening it, I watched as Rose splashed through puddles on the way to her house, umbrella in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Another couple of stomps and she was on the porch, her yellow slicker dripping wet.

"Now I understand how Noah must have felt. Can you believe this storm? I've got puddles all over my kitchen."

I motioned over my shoulder. "My leak is in the living room."

"Home sweet home, right? Here," she said, handing over the wine. "Just like I promised. And believe me, I'm going to need it."

"Rough day?"

"Like you couldn't imagine."

"Come on in."

"Let me leave my coat out here or you're going to have two puddles in your living room," she said, shimmying out of her slicker. "I got soaked in the few seconds I was out there."

Rose tossed her coat on the rocker along with the umbrella and followed me inside as I led the way to the kitchen.

I immediately set the wine on the counter. As Rose wandered to the table, I pulled open the drawer by the refrigerator. From the back of the drawer, I pulled out a rusted Swiss Army knife and readied the opener.

"This is great. I'm starved. I haven't eaten all day."

"Help yourself. How did it go with the painting?"

"Well, I got the living room done. But after that, it wasn't such a good day."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you about it later. I need wine first. How about you? What did you do?"

"Nothing much. Ran to the store, cleaned up, did my laundry."

Rose took a seat at the table and reached for a cracker. "In other words, memoir material."

I laughed as I began to twist the corkscrew. "Oh, yeah. Real exciting."

"Do you want me to get that?" Rose asked.

"I think I've got it."

"Good." Rose smirked. "Because I'm the guest, and I expect to be pampered."

I propped the bottle between my legs and the cork came out with a pop.

"Seriously, though, thanks for having me over." Rose sighed. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this."

"Really?"

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" I asked.

"Act surprised that I wanted to come over. That I wanted to bond over a bottle of wine. That's what friends do."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and by the way, before you start wondering whether or not we're actually friends and how well we know each other, trust me when I say that yes, absolutely. I consider you a friend." I let that sink in before going on. "Now how about some wine?"

The storm finally broke in the early evening, and I opened the kitchen window. The temperature had dropped and the air felt cool and clean. While pockets of mist rose from the ground, rolling clouds drifted past the moon, bringing light and shadow in equal measures. Leaves turned from silver to black and silver again as they shimmered in the evening breeze.

I drifted dreamily on the wine, the evening breeze, and Rose's easy laughter. I found myself savoring every bite of the buttery crackers and sharp, rich cheese, remembering how hungry I once had been. There was a time when I'd been as thin as a heated strand of blown glass.

My thoughts were wandering. I remembered my parents, not the hard times but the good ones, when the demons were sleeping: when my mom made eggs and bacon, the aroma filling the house, and I'd seen her father glide into the kitchen, toward my mother. He would pull aside her hair and kiss the side of her neck, making her giggle. Once, I remembered, my dad had brought them to Gettysburg. He'd taken my hand as they walked around, and I could still recall the rare sensation of strength and gentleness in his grasp. He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark brown hair and there was a navy tattoo on his upper arm. He'd served on a destroyer for four years and had been to Japan, Korea, and Singapore, though he said little else about his experience.

My mom was petite with blond hair and had once competed in a beauty pageant, finishing as the second runner-up. She loved flowers, and in the spring she would plant bulbs in ceramic flowerpots she placed in the yard. Tulips and daffodils, peonies and violets, would explode in colors so bright they almost made my eyes ache. When we moved, the flowerpots would be placed on the backseat and fastened with seat belts. Often, when she cleaned, my mother would sing to herself, melodies from childhood, some of them in Polish, and I would listen secretly from another room, trying to make sense of the words.

The wine Rose and I were drinking had hints of oak and apricots, and it tasted wonderful. I finished my cup and Rose poured her another. When a moth began to dance around the light above the sink, fluttering with purpose and confusion, both of us began to giggle. I cut more cheese and added more crackers to the plate. We talked about movies and books, and Rose shrieked with pleasure when I said my favorite movie was "It's a Wonderful Life," claiming that it was her favorite movie, too. When I was younger, I remembered asking my mom for a bell, so I could help angels get their wings. I finished my second glass of wine, feeling as light as a feather on a summer breeze.

Rose asked few questions. Instead, they stuck to superficial topics, and I thought again that she was happy for Rose's company. When silver highlighted the world beyond the window, Rose and I stepped out onto the front porch. I could feel myself swaying slightly and I took hold of the railing. We sipped our wine as the clouds continued to break, and all at once, the sky was filled with stars. I pointed out the Big Dipper and Polaris, the only stars I could name, but Rose began naming dozens of others. I stared at the sky in wonder, amazed at how much Rose knew about the constellations, until I noticed the names Rose was reciting. "That one's called Elmer Fudd, and over there, right above that pine tree, you can make out Daffy Duck." When I finally realized that Rose knew as little about the stars as I did, Rose started to giggle like a mischievous kid.

Back in the kitchen, I poured the last of the wine and took a sip. It was warm in my throat and made me feel dizzy. The moth continued to dance around the light, though if I tried to focus on it, there seemed to be two of them. I felt happy and safe and thought again how enjoyable the evening had been.

I had a friend, a real friend, someone who laughed and made jokes about the stars, and I wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry because it had been so long since I'd experienced something so easy and natural.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked.

"I'm fine," I answered. "I was just thinking that I'm glad you came over."

Rose peered at me. "I think you might be tipsy."

"I think you might be right," I agreed.

"Well, okay then. What do you want to do? Since you're obviously tipsy and ready for fun."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Do you want to do something special? Head into town, find someplace exciting?"

I shook her head. "No."

"You don't want to meet people?"

"I'm better off alone."

Rose ran her finger around the rim of the mug before saying anything. "Trust me on this: no one is better off alone."

"I am."

Rose thought about my answer before leaning closer. "So you're telling me that—assuming you had food, shelter, and clothing and anything else you needed to simply survive—you'd rather be stranded on a desert island in the middle of nowhere, all alone, forever, for the rest of your life? Be honest."

I blinked, trying to keep Rose in focus. "Why would you think I wouldn't be honest?"

"Because everybody lies. It's part of living in society. Don't get me wrong—I think it's necessary. The last thing anyone wants is to live in a society where total honesty prevails. Can you imagine the conversations? You're short and fat, one person might say, and the other might answer, I know. But you smell bad. It just wouldn't work. So people lie by omission all the time. People will tell you most of the story… and I've learned that the part they neglect to tell you is often the most important part. People hide the truth because they're afraid."

With Rose's words, I felt a finger touch her heart. All at once, it seemed hard to breathe.

"Are you talking about me?" I finally croaked out.

"I don't know. Am I?"

I felt myself pale slightly, but before I could respond, Rose smiled.

"Actually, I was thinking about my day today. I told you it was hard, right? Well, what I just told you is part of the problem. It gets frustrating when people won't tell the truth. I mean, how am I supposed to help people if they hold things back? If I don't really know what's going on?"

I could feel something twisting and tightening in my chest. "Maybe they want to talk about it but they know there's nothing you can do to help," I whispered.

"There's always something I can do."

In the moonlight shining through the kitchen window, Rose's skin glowed a luminous white, and I had the sense that she never went out in the sun. The wine made the room move, the walls buckle. I could feel tears beginning to form in my eyes and it was all I could do to blink them back. My mouth was dry.

"Not always," I whispered. I turned to face the window. Beyond the glass, the moon hung low over the trees. I swallowed, suddenly feeling as if I were observing myself from across the room. I could see myself sitting at the table with Rose, and when I began to speak, my voice didn't seem to be my own. "I had a friend once. She was in a terrible marriage and she couldn't talk to anyone. He used to hit her, and in the beginning, she told him that if it ever happened again, she would leave him. He swore that it wouldn't and she believed him. But it only got worse after that, like when his dinner was cold, or when she mentioned that she'd visited with one of the neighbors who was walking by with his dog. She just chatted with him, but that night, her husband threw her into a mirror."

I stared at the floor. Linoleum was peeling up in the corners, but I hadn't known how to fix it. I'd tried to glue it, but the glue hadn't worked and the corners had curled again.

"He always apologized, and sometimes he would even cry because of the bruises he'd made on her arms or legs or her back. He would say that he hated what he'd done, but in the next breath tell her she'd deserved it. That if she'd been more careful, it wouldn't have happened. That if she'd been paying attention or hadn't been so stupid, he wouldn't have lost his temper. She tried to change. She worked hard at trying to be a better wife and to do things the way he wanted, but it was never enough."

I could feel the pressure of tears behind my eyes and though I tried again to stop them, I felt them sliding down my cheek. Rose was motionless across the table, watching me without moving.

"And she loved him! In the beginning, he was so sweet to her. He made her feel safe. On the night they met, she'd been working, and after she finished her shift, two men were following her. When she went around the corner, one of them grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth, and even though she tried to get away, the men were so much stronger and she didn't know what would have happened except that her future husband came around the corner and hit one of them hard on the back of the neck and he fell to the ground. And then he grabbed the other one and threw him into the wall, and it was over. Just like that. He helped her up and walked her home and the next day he took her out for coffee. He was kind and he treated her like a princess, right up until she was on her honeymoon."

I knew I shouldn't be telling Rose any of this, but I couldn't stop. "My friend tried to get away twice. Onetime, she came back on her own because she had nowhere else to go. And the second time she ran away, she thought she was finally free. But he hunted her down and dragged her back to the house. At home, he beat her and put a gun to her head and told her that if she ever ran away again, he'd kill her. He'd kill any man she cared for. And she believed him, because by then, she knew he was crazy. But she was trapped. He never gave her any money, he never allowed her to leave the house. He used to drive by the house when he was supposed to be working, just to make sure she was there. He monitored the phone records and called all the time, and he wouldn't let her get a driver's license. One time, when she woke up in the middle of the night, she found him standing over the bed, just staring at her. He'd been drinking and holding the gun again and she was too scared to say anything other than to ask him to come to bed. But that was when she knew that if she stayed, the husband would eventually kill her."

I swiped at my eyes, my fingers slick with salty tears. I could barely breathe but the words kept coming. "She started to steal money from his wallet. Never more than a dollar or two, because otherwise he would notice. Normally, he locked his wallet up at night, but sometimes, he would forget. It took so long to get enough money for her to escape. Because that's what she had to do. Escape. She had to go someplace where he would never find her, because she knew he wouldn't stop searching for her. And she couldn't tell anyone anything, because her family was gone and she knew the police wouldn't do anything. If he so much as suspected anything, he would kill her. So she stole and saved and found coins in the sofa cushions and in the washing machine. She hid the money in a plastic bag that she put beneath a flowerpot, and every time he went outside she was sure he would find it. It took so long to get the money she needed because she had to have enough to get far away so that he'd never find her. So that she could start over again."

I wasn't aware of when it had happened, but I realized that Rose had taken my hand and I was no longer watching myself from across the room. I could taste salt on my lips and imagined that my soul was leaking out. I wanted desperately to sleep.

In the silence Rose continued to hold her gaze. "Your friend has a lot of courage," she said quietly.

"No," I said. "My friend is scared all the time."

"That's what courage is. If she weren't scared, she wouldn't need courage in the first place. I admire what she did." Rose gave my hand a squeeze. "I think I'd like your friend. I'm glad you told me about her."

I glanced away, feeling utterly drained. "I probably shouldn't have told you all that."

Rose shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much. One thing you'll learn about me is that I'm good with secrets. Especially when it comes to people I don't know, right?"

I nodded. "Right."

Rose stayed with me for another hour, but steered the conversation toward easier ground. I talked about working at Newton's and some of the customers I was getting to know. Rose asked about the best way to get the paint out from under my fingernails. With the wine gone, my dizziness began to fade, leaving in its wake a sense of exhaustion. Rose, too, began to yawn, and we finally rose from the table. Rose helped me clean up, though there wasn't much to do aside from washing a couple of dishes, and I walked her to the door.

As Rose stepped onto the porch, she paused. "I think we had a visitor," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a bicycle leaning against your tree."

I followed her outside. Beyond the yellow glow of the porch light, the world was dark and the outlines of the distant pine trees reminded I of the ragged edge of a black hole. Fireflies mimicked the stars, twinkling and blinking, and I squinted, realizing that Rose was right.

"Whose bicycle is that?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"Did you hear anyone come up?"

"No. But I think someone left it for you. See?" She pointed. "Isn't that a bow on the handlebars?"

I squinted, spotting the bow. A woman's bike, it had wire baskets on each side of the rear wheel, as well as another wire basket on the front. A chain was wrapped loosely around the seat, with the key still in the lock. "Who would bring me a bicycle?"

"Why do you keep asking me these questions? I don't know what's going on any more than you do."

Rose and I stepped off the porch. Though the puddles had largely vanished, sinking into the sandy loam, the grass held on to the rain and dampened the tips of my shoes as I moved through it. I touched the bicycle, then the bow, rubbing the ribbon between my fingers like a rug merchant. A card was tucked beneath it, and I reached for it.

"It's from Edward," I said, sounding baffled.

"Edward the store guy Edward, or another Edward?"

"The store guy."

"What does it say?"

I shook my head, trying to make sense of it before holding it out. "I thought you might enjoy this."

Rose tapped the note. "I guess that means he's as interested in you as you are in him."

"I'm not interested in him!"

"Of course not." Rose winked. "Why would you be?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**(Edward's POV)**

I was sweeping the floor near the coolers when Bella entered the store. I had guessed that she would show up to talk to him about the bicycle first thing in the morning. After leaning the broom handle against the glass, I retucked my shirt and ran a quick hand through my hair. Lexi had been waiting for her all morning and she'd already popped up before the door had even closed.

"Hey, Miss Bella!" Lexi said. "Did you get the bicycle?"

"I did. Thank you," Bella answered. "That's why I'm here."

"We worked really hard on it."

"You did a great job," she said. "Is your dad around?"

"Uh-huh. He's right over there." She pointed. "He's coming."

I watched as Bella turned toward him.

"Hey, Bella," I said.

When I was close, she crossed her arms. "Can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

I could hear the coolness in her voice and knew she was doing her best not to show her anger in front of Lexi.

"Of course," I said, reaching for the door. Pushing it open, I followed her outside and found myself admiring her figure as she headed toward the bicycle.

Stopping near the bike, she turned to face me. In the front basket was the umbrella she'd borrowed the day before. She patted the seat, her face serious. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"Do you like it?"

"Why did you buy it for me?"

"I didn't buy it for you," I said.

She blinked. "But your note…"

I shrugged. "It's been in the shed collecting dust for the last couple of years. Believe me, the last thing I'd do is buy you a bicycle."

Her eyes flashed. "That's not the point! You keep giving me things and you've got to stop. I don't want anything from you. I don't need an umbrella or vegetables or wine. And I don't need a bike!"

"Then give it away." I shrugged. "Because I don't want it, either."

She fell silent and I watched as confusion gave way to frustration, then finally futility. In the end, she shook her head and turned to leave. Before she could take a step, I cleared my throat. "Before you go, though, would you at least do me the favor of listening to my explanation?"

She glared at me over her shoulder. "It doesn't matter."

"It might not matter to you, but it matters to me."

Her eyes held mine, wavering before they finally dropped. When she sighed, I motioned to the bench in front of the store. I'd originally placed it there, wedged between the ice-maker and a rack of propane tanks, as a joke, knowing that it would sit unused. Who would want to stare at a parking lot and the road out front? To my surprise, on most days it was almost always occupied; the only reason it was empty now was because it was so early.

Bella hesitated before taking a seat, and I laced my fingers together in my lap.

"I wasn't lying about the fact that the bike has been collecting dust for the last couple of years. It used to belong to my wife," I said. "She loved that bike and she rode it all the time. Once, she even rode it all the way to Wilmington, but of course, by the time she got there, she was tired and I had to go pick her up, even though I didn't have anyone to mind the store. I literally had to close the place up for a couple of hours." I paused. "That was the last ride she took on it. That night, she had her first seizure and I had to rush her to the hospital. After that, she got progressively sicker, and she never rode again. I put the bike in the garage, but every time I see it, I can't help but think back on that horrible night." I straightened up. "I know I should have already gotten rid of it, but I just couldn't give it to someone who'd ride it once or twice and then forget about it. I wanted it to go to someone who would appreciate it as much as she did. To someone who was going to use it. That's what my wife would have wanted. If you'd known her, you'd understand. You'd be doing me a favor." When she spoke, her voice was subdued. "I can't take your wife's bike."

"So you're still giving it back?"

When she nodded, I leaned forward, propping my elbows on my knees. "You and I are a lot more alike than you realize. In your shoes, I would have done exactly the same thing. You don't want to feel like you owe anyone anything. You want to prove to yourself that you can make it on your own, right?"

She opened her mouth to answer but said nothing. In the silence, I went on.

"After my wife died, I was the same way. For a long time. People would drop by the store and a lot of them would tell me to call them if I ever needed anything. Most of them knew I didn't have any family here and they meant well, but I never called anyone because it just wasn't me. Even if I did want something, I wouldn't have known how to ask, but most of the time, I didn't even know what it was that I wanted. All I knew was that I was at the end of my rope, and to continue the metaphor, for a long time, I was barely hanging on. I mean, all at once, I had to take care of two young kids as well as the store, and the kids were younger then and needed even more attention than they do now. And then one day, Alice showed up." I looked at her. "Have you met Alice yet? Works a few afternoons a week including Sundays, size of a pixie, talks to everyone? Noah and Lexi love her."

"I'm not sure."

"It's not important. But anyway, she showed up one afternoon, maybe around five or so, and she simply told me that she was going to take care of the kids while I spent the next week at the beach. She'd already arranged a place for me and she told me that I didn't have a choice in the matter because, in her opinion, I was heading straight for a nervous breakdown."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stifle the memory of those days. "I was upset about it at first. I mean, they're my kids, right? And what kind of father was I to make people think that I couldn't handle being a father? But unlike anyone else, Joyce didn't ask me to call if I needed anything. She knew what I was going through and she went ahead and did what she thought was right. The next thing I knew, I was on my way to the beach. And she was right. The first two days, I was still a wreck. But over the next few days, I went for long walks, read some books, slept late, and by the time I got back, I realized that I was more relaxed than I'd been in a longtime…"

I trailed off, feeling the weight of her scrutiny.

"I don't know why you're telling me this."

I turned toward her. "Both of us know that if I'd asked if you wanted the bicycle, you would have said no. So, like Alice did with me, I just went ahead and did it because it was the right thing to do. Because I learned that it's okay to accept some help every now and then." I nodded toward the bike. "Take it," I said. "I have no use for it, and you have to admit that it would make getting to and from work a whole lot easier."

It took a few seconds before I saw her shoulders relax and she turned to me with a wry smile. "Did you practice that speech?"

"Of course." I tried to look sheepish. "But you'll take it?"

She hesitated. "A bike might be nice," she finally admitted. "Thank you."

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. As I stared at her profile, I noted again how pretty she was, though I had the sense that she didn't think so. Which only made her even more appealing.

"You're welcome," I said.

"But no more freebies, okay? You've done more than enough for me already."

"Fair enough." I nodded toward the bike. "Did it ride okay? With the baskets, I mean?"

"It was fine. Why?"

"Because Lexi and Naoh helped me put them on yesterday. One of those rainy-day projects, you know? Lexi picked them out. Just so you know, she also thought you needed sparkly handlebar grips, too, but I drew the line at that."

"I wouldn't have minded sparkly handlebar grips."

I laughed. "I'll let her know."

She hesitated. "You're doing a good job, you know. With your kids, I mean."

"Thank you."

"I mean it. And I know it hasn't been easy."

"That's the thing about life. A lot of the time, it isn't easy at all. We just have to try to make the best of it. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think I do."

The door to the store opened, and as I leaned forward I saw Noah scanning the parking lot, Lexi close behind him. With brown hair and brown eyes, Noah resembled his mom. His hair was a riotous mess, and I knew he'd just crawled out of bed.

"Over here, guys."

Noah scratched his head as he shuffled toward us. Lexi beamed, waving at Bella.

"Hey, Dad?" Noah asked.

"Yeah?"

"We wanted to ask if we're still going to the beach today. You promised to take us."

"That was the plan."

"With a barbecue?"

"Of course."

"Okay," I said. I rubbed my nose. "Hi, Miss Bella."

Bella waved at Noah and Lexi.

"Do you like the bike?" Lexi chirped.

"Yes. Thank you."

"I had to help my dad fix it," Noah informed her. "He's not too good with tools."

Bella glanced at me with a smirk. "He didn't mention that."

"It's okay. I knew what to do. But he had to help me with the new inner tube."

Lexi fixed her gaze on Bella. "Are you going to come to the beach, too?"

Bella sat up straighter. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Lexi asked.

"She's probably working," I said.

"Actually, I'm not," she said. "I have a couple of things to do around the house."

"Then you have to come," Lexi cried. "It's really fun."

"That's your family time," she insisted. "I wouldn't want to be in the way."

"You won't be in the way. And it's really fun. You can watch me swim. Please?" Lexi begged.

I stayed quiet, loath to add pressure. I assumed Bella would say no, but surprising me, she nodded slightly. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

"Okay," she finally said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**(Bella's POV)**

After getting back from the store, I parked the bike at the back of the cottage and went inside to change. I didn't have a bathing suit, but I wouldn't have worn one even if I did. As natural as it was for a teenager to walk around in front of strangers in the equivalent of underwear and a bra, I wasn't comfortable wearing something like that in front of Edward on a day out with his kids. Or frankly, even without the kids.

Though I resisted the idea, I had to admit he intrigued me. Not because of the things he'd done for me, as touching as that was. It had more to do with the sad way he smiled sometimes, the expression on his face when he'd told me about his wife, or the way he treated his kids. There was a loneliness within him that he couldn't disguise, and I knew that in some way it matched my own.

I knew he was interested in me. I'd been around long enough to recognize when men found me attractive; the clerk at the grocery store talking too much or a stranger glancing my way, or a waiter at a restaurant checking on their table just a bit too frequently. In time, I'd learned to pretend I was oblivious to the attention of those men; in other instances, I showed obvious disdain, because I'd known what would happen if I didn't. Later. Once they got home. Once they were alone.

But that life was gone now, I reminded myself. Opening the drawers, I pulled out a pair of shorts and the sandals I'd picked up at Esme's. The night before, I's had wine with a friend, and now she was going to the beach with Edward and his family. These were ordinary events in an ordinary life. The concept felt alien, like I was learning the customs of a foreign land, and it left me feeling strangely elated and wary at exactly the same time.

As soon as I finished dressing, I saw Edward's volvo coming up the gravel road and I drew a long breath as he pulled to a stop in front of my house. Now or never, I thought to myself as I stepped out onto the porch.

"You need to put on your seat belt, Miss Bella," Lexi said from behind me.

"My dad won't drive unless you're wearing it."

Edward looked over at me, as if to say, "Are you ready for this?" I gave him my bravest smile.

"Okay," he said, "let's go."

We reached the coastal town of Long Beach, complete with saltbox houses and expansive views of the sea, in less than an hour. Edward pulled into a small parking lot nestled against the dunes; saw grass billowed nearby in the stiff sea breeze. I got out of the car and stared at the ocean, breathing deeply. The kids climbed out and immediately made for the path between the dunes.

"I'm going to check the water, Dad!" Noah shouted, holding up his mask and snorkel.

"Me, too!" Lexi added, trailing behind.

Edward was busy unloading the back of the volvo. "Hold up," he called out. "Just wait, okay?"

Noah sighed, his impatience obvious as he shifted from one foot to the other. Edward began pulling out the cooler.

"Do you need some help?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I can handle this. But would you mind putting some sunscreen on the kids and keeping an eye on them for a few minutes? I know they're excited to be here."

"That's fine," I said, turning to Lexi and Noah. "Are you two ready?"

Edward spent the next few minutes ferrying the items from the car, setting up camp near the picnic table closest to the dune, where high tide wouldn't encroach. Though there were a few other families, for the most part they had this section of beach to themselves. I had slipped off my sandals and was standing at the water's edge as the kids splashed in the shallows. My arms were crossed and even from a distance, Edward noticed a rare expression of contentment on my face.

He slung a couple of towels over his shoulder as he approached. "It's hard to believe there was a storm yesterday, isn't it?"

I turned at the sound of his voice. "I forgot how much I missed the ocean."

"Been awhile?"

"Too long," I said, listening to the steady rhythm of the waves as they gently rolled ashore.

Noah ran in and out of the waves, while off to the side Lexi crouched, searching for collectible seashells.

"It must be hard sometimes, raising them on your own," I observed.

Edward hesitated, considering it. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Most of the time, it isn't so bad. We kind of get into a rhythm, you know? In our daily lives? It's when we do things like this—where there is no rhythm—that it sometimes gets frustrating." He kicked briefly at the sand, making a small furrow at their feet. "When my wife and I talked about having a third child, she tried to warn me that a third child would mean moving from 'man-to-man' to 'zone' defense. She used to joke that she wasn't sure I was up to it. But here I am, in zone defense every day…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Said what?"

"It seems like every time I talk to you, I end up talking about my wife."

For the first time, I turned to him. "Why shouldn't you talk about your wife?"

He pushed a pile of sand back and forth, smoothing over the ditch he'd just made. "Because I don't want you to think that I can't talk about anything else. That all I do is live in the past."

"You loved her very much, didn't you?"

"Yes," he answered.

"And she was a major part of your life and the mother of your kids, right?"

"Yes."

"Then it's okay to talk about her," I said. "You should talk about her. She's part of who you are."

Edward flashed a grateful smile but couldn't think of anything to say. I seemed to read his mind, and when I spoke, my voice was gentle. "How did the two of you meet?"

"We met in a bar, of all places. She was out with some girlfriends celebrating someone's birthday. It was hot and crowded and the lights were low and the music was loud, and she just… stood out. I mean, all her friends were a little out of control and it was obvious that all of them were having a good time, but she was as cool as can be."

"I'll bet she was beautiful, too."

"That goes without saying," he said. "So, swallowing my nervousness, I wandered over and proceeded to use every ounce of charm I had at my disposal."

When he paused, he noticed the smile playing at the corners of my lips.

"And?" I asked.

"And it still took me three hours to get so much as a name and phone number from her."

I laughed. "And let me guess. You called the next day, right? And asked her out?"

"How would you know that?"

"You seem like the type."

"Spoken like someone who's been hit on more than a few times."

I shrugged, leaving it open to interpretation. "Then what?"

"Why do you want to hear this?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I do."

He studied me. "Fair enough," he finally said. "So anyway—as you already magically knew—I asked her out to lunch and we spent the rest of the afternoon talking. That weekend, I told her that the two of us would get married one day."

"You're kidding."

"I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, she thought it was crazy, too. But I just… knew. She was smart and kind and we had a lot in common and we wanted the same things in life. She laughed a lot and she made me laugh, too… honestly, of the two of us, I was the lucky one."

Rollers continued to ride the ocean breeze, pushing over my ankles. "She probably thought she was lucky, too."

"That's only because I was able to fool her."

"I doubt that."

"That's because I'm able to fool you, too."

I laughed. "I don't think so."

"You're just saying that because we're friends."

"You think we're friends?"

"Yeah," he said, holding my gaze. "Don't you?"

He could tell by my expression that the idea surprised me, but before I could answer, Lexi came splashing toward us, holding a fistful of seashells.

"Miss Bella!" she cried. "I found some really pretty ones!"

I bent lower. "Can you show me?"

Lexi held them out, dumping them into my hand before turning toward Edward. "Hey, Daddy?" she asked.

"Can we get the barbecue started? I'm really hungry."

"Sure, sweetie." He took a few steps down the beach, watching his son diving in and out of the waves. As Noah popped back up, Edward cupped his mouth. "Hey, Noah?" he shouted. "I'm going to start the coals, so why don't you come in for a while."

"Now?" Noah shouted back.

"Just for a little while."

Even from a distance, he saw his son's shoulders droop. I must have noticed it as well, because I was quick to speak up.

"I can stay down here if you want," I assured him.

"You sure?"

"Lexi's showing me her seashells," I said.

He nodded and turned back to Noah. "Miss Bella's going to watch you, okay? So don't go out too far!"

"I won't!" he said, grinning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**(Bella's POV)**

A little while later, I led a shivering Lexi and excited Noah back toward the blanket Edward had spread out earlier. The grill had been set up and the briquettes were already glowing white on the edges.

Edward unfolded the last of the beach chairs onto the blanket and watched us approach. "How was the water, guys?"

"Awesome!" Noah answered. His hair, partially dried, was pointing in every direction. "When's lunch?"

Edward checked the coals. "Give me about twenty minutes."

"Can me and Lexi go back to the water?"

"You just got out of the water. Why don't you take a break for a few minutes?"

"We don't want to swim. We want to build sand castles," he said.

Edward noted Lexi's chattering teeth. "Are you sure you want to do that? You're purple."

Lexi nodded vehemently. "I'm okay," she said shivering. "And we're supposed to build castles at the beach."

"All right. But let's throw shirts on you two. And stay right there where I can see you," he said, pointing.

"I know, Dad." Noah sighed. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

Edward rummaged through a duffel bag and helped both Noah and Lexi put their shirts on. When he was finished, Noah grabbed a bag full of plastic toys and shovels and ran off, stopping a few feet from the water's edge. Lexi trailed behind him.

"Do you want me to head down there?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, they'll be okay. This is the part they're used to. When I'm cooking, I mean. They know to stay out of the water."

Moving to the cooler, he squatted down and opened the lid. "Are you getting hungry, too?" he asked.

"A little," I said before realizing that I hadn't eaten anything since the cheese and wine I'd had the evening before. On cue, I heard my stomach growl and I crossed my arms over it.

"Good, because I'm starved." As Edward began rummaging through the cooler, I noticed the sinewy muscles of his forearm. "I was thinking hot dogs for Noah, a cheeseburger for Lexi, and for you and me, steaks." He pulled out the meat and set it aside, then leaned over the grill, blowing on the coals.

"Can I help with anything?"

"Would you mind putting the tablecloth on the table? It's in the cooler."

"Sure," I said. I pulled one of the bags of ice out of the cooler and simply stared. "There's enough food for half a dozen families in here," I said.

"Yeah, well, with kids, my motto has always been bring too much rather than not enough, since I never know exactly what they'll eat. You can't imagine how many times we've come out here and I've forgotten something and have had to load the kids back up and run to the store. I wanted to avoid that today."

I unfolded the plastic tablecloth and, at Edward's direction, secured the corners with paperweights he had somehow thought to bring.

"What next? Do you want me to put everything else on the table?"

"We've got a few minutes. And I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a beer," he said. Reaching into the cooler, he pulled out a bottle. "You?"

"I'll take a soda," I said.

"Diet Coke?" he asked, reaching back in.

"Great."

When he passed the can to me, his hand brushed against mine, though I wasn't sure he even noticed.

He motioned to the chairs. "Would you like to sit?"

I hesitated before taking a seat next to him. When he'd set them up, he'd left enough distance between us so that they wouldn't accidentally touch. Edward twisted the cap from his beer and took a pull. "There's nothing better than a cold beer on a hot day at the beach."

I smiled, slightly disconcerted at being alone with him. "I'll take your word for it."

"You don't like beer?"

My mind flashed to my father and the empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon that usually littered the floor next to the recliner where he sat. "Not too much," I admitted.

"Just wine, huh?"

It took me a moment to remember that he'd given me a bottle. "I had some wine last night, as a matter of fact. With my neighbor."

"Yeah? Good for you."

I searched for a safe topic. "You said you were from Spokane?"

He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. "Born and raised. I lived in the same house until I went to college." He cast a sidelong glance at me. "University of Washington, by the way. Go, Huskies."

I smiled. "Do your parents still live there?"

"Yes."

"That must make it hard for them to visit the grandkids."

"I suppose."

Something in his tone caught my attention. "You suppose?"

"They're the kind of grandparents who would come by, even if they were closer. They've seen the kids only several times each year since Roselie dies. They have been very busy and trying to occupy their time." He shook his head. "After Rosalie's death, her parents became distant," he went on, "but my parents have so much interest in them, aside from sending them cards on their birthdays and gifts at Christmas. But for now, they'd rather travel or do whatever it is they do."

"Huh?"

"What can I do? And besides, I can't say they were all that different with me, even though I was their youngest child. They visited me in college many times and of course came to my graduation, and even though I swam well enough to get a full scholarship, they saw me race only twice. Even if I lived across the street from them, they'd want to see the kids. That's one of the reasons I reconsidered staying here?"

"What about the other set of grandparents?"

He scratched at the label on his bottle of beer. "That's trickier. They had two other daughters who moved to Florida, and after they sold me the store, they moved down there. They come up once or twice a year to visit for a few days, but it's still hard for them. And they won't stay at the house, either, because I think it reminds them of Rosalie. Too many memories."

"In other words, you're pretty much on your own."

"It's just the opposite," he said, nodding toward the kids. "I have them, remember?"

"It has to be hard sometimes, though. Running the store, raising your kids."

"It's not so bad. As long as I'm up by six in the morning and don't go to bed until midnight, it's easy to keep up."

I laughed easily. "Do you think the coals are getting close?"

"Let me check," he said. After setting the bottle in the sand, he stood up from his chair and walked over to the grill. The briquettes were white and heat rose in shimmering waves. "Your timing is impeccable," he said. He threw the steaks and the hamburger patty on the grill while I went to the cooler and started bringing the endless array of items to the table: Tupperware containers of potato salad, coleslaw, pickles, a green bean salad, sliced fruit, two bags of chips, slices of cheese, and assorted condiments.

I shook my head as I started arranging everything, thinking that Edward somehow forgot that his kids were still little. There was more food here than I'd kept in my house the entire time I'd lived in Southport. Edward flipped the steaks and the hamburger patty and then added the hot dogs to the grill. As he did, he found his gaze drifting to my legs as I moved around the table, noting again how attractive I was…I guess.

I seemed to realize he was staring. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"You were thinking about something."

He sighed. "I'm glad you decided to come today," he finally said. "Because I'm having a great time."

As Edward hovered over the grill, we settled into easy conversation. Edward gave me an overview of what it was like to run a country store. He told me how his in-laws had started the business and described with affection some of the regulars, people who could best be described as eccentric, and I silently wondered whether I would have been included in that description had he brought someone else to the beach.

Not that it would have mattered. The more he talked, the more I realized that he was the kind of man who tried to find the best in people, the kind of man who didn't like to complain. I tried and failed to imagine what he'd been like when he was younger, and gradually I steered the conversation in that direction. He talked about growing up in Spokane and the long, lazy weekends he spent riding bikes along the Centennial Trail with friends; he told me that once he discovered swimming, it quickly became an obsession. He swam four or five hours a day and had Olympic dreams, but a torn rotator cuff in his sophomore year of college put an end to those. He told me about the fraternity parties he'd attended and the friends he'd made in college, and admitted that nearly all of those friendships had slowly but surely drifted away. As he talked, I noticed that he didn't seem to either embellish or downplay his past, nor did he appear to be overly preoccupied with what others thought of him.

I could see the traces of the elite athlete he once had been, noting the graceful, fluid way he moved and the easy way he smiled, as if long accustomed to both victory and defeat. When he paused, I worried that he would ask about my past, but he seemed to sense that it would make me uncomfortable and would instead launch into another story.

When the food was ready, he called the kids and they came running. They were covered in sand, and Edward had them stand to the side while he brushed them off. Watching him, I knew he was a better father than he gave himself credit for; good, I suspected, in all the ways that mattered.

Once the kids got to the table, the conversation shifted. I listened as we chattered on about the kids' sandcastle and one of the shows on the Disney Channel they both enjoyed. When we wondered aloud about the s'mores we were supposed to have later—marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers, warmed until melting—it was clear that Edward had created special, fun traditions for his kids. He was different, I thought, from the men I'd met in my past, different from anyone I'd met before, and as the conversation rambled on, any vestiges of the nervousness I'd once felt began to slip away.

The food was delicious, a welcome change from my recent austere diet. The sky remained clear, the blue expanse broken only by an occasional seabird passing overhead. The breeze rose and fell, enough to keep them cool, and the steady rhythm of the waves added to the sense of calm.

When we finished eating, Noah and Lexi helped clear the table and pack away the uneaten items. A few items that wouldn't spoil—the pickles and the chips—were left on the table. The kids wanted to go boogie boarding, and after Edward reapplied their suntan lotion, he slipped off his shirt and followed them into the waves.

I carried my chair to the water's edge and spent the next hour watching as he helped the kids through the breakers, moving one and then the other into position to catch the waves. The kids were squealing with delight, obviously having the time of their lives. I marveled at the way Edward was able to make each of them feel like the center of attention. There was a tenderness in the way he treated them, a depth of patience that I hadn't quite expected. As the afternoon wore on and the clouds began to drift in, I found myself smiling at the thought that for the first time in many years, I felt completely relaxed. And not only that, I knew I was having as much fun as the kids.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**(Bella's POV)**

After they got out of the water, Lexi declared that she was cold and Edward led her to the bathroom to help her change into dry clothes. I stayed with Noah on the blanket, admiring the way the sunlight rippled on the water while Noah scooped sand into little piles.

"Hey, do you want to help me fly my kite?" Noah suddenly asked.

"I don't know that I've ever flown a kite before…"

"It's easy," he insisted, digging around in the pile of toys Edward had brought and pulling out a small kite. "I can show you how. C'mon."

He took off running down the beach, and I jogged a few steps before settling back into a brisk walk. By the time I reached him, he was already beginning to unwind the string and he handed me the kite. "Just hold this above your head, okay?"

I nodded as Noah started to back up slowly, continuing to loosen the string with practiced ease.

"Are you ready?" he shouted as he finally came to a stop. "When I take off running and yell, just let go!"

"I'm ready!" I shouted back.

Noah started running, and when I felt the tension in the kite and heard him shout, I released it immediately. I wasn't sure the breeze was strong enough, but the kite shot straight to the sky within seconds.

Noah stopped and turned around. As I walked toward him, he let out even more line.

Reaching his side, I shielded my eyes from the sun as I watched the slowly rising kite. Black and yellow, the distinctive Batman logo was visible even from a distance.

"I'm pretty good at flying kites," he said, staring up at it. "How come you've never flown one?"

"I don't know. It just wasn't something I did as a kid."

"You should have. It's fun."

Noah continued to stare upward, his face a mask of concentration. For the first time, I noticed how much Josh and Lexi looked alike.

"How do you like school? You're in kindergarten, right?"

"It's okay. I like recess best. We have races and stuff."

Of course, I thought. Since they had arrived at the beach, he'd barely stopped moving. "Is your teacher nice?"

"She's really nice. She's kind of like my dad. She doesn't yell or anything."

"Your dad doesn't yell?"

"No," he said with great conviction.

"What does he do when he gets mad?"

"He doesn't get mad."

I studied Noah, wondering if he was serious before realizing that he was.

"Do you have a lot of friends?" he asked.

"Not too many. Why?"

"Because my dad says that you're his friend. That's why he brought you to the beach."

"When did he say that?"

"When we were in the waves."

"What else did he say?"

"He asked us if it bothered us that you came."

"Does it?"

"Why should it?" He shrugged. "Everybody needs friends, and the beach is fun."

No argument there. "You're right," I said.

"My mom used to come with us out here, you know."

"She did?"

"Yeah, but she died."

"I know. And I'm sorry. That must be hard. You must miss her very much."

He nodded and for an instant, he looked both older and younger than his age. "My dad gets sad sometimes. He doesn't think I know, but I can tell."

"I'd be sad, too."

He was quiet as he thought about my answer. "Thanks for helping me with my kite," he said.

"You two seemed to be having a good time," Edward observed.

After Lexi had changed, Edward helped her get her kite in the air and then went to stand with me on the compact sand near the water's edge. I could feel my hair moving slightly in the breeze.

"He's sweet. And more talkative than I thought he'd be."

As Edward watched his kids managing their kites, I had the sense that his eyes missed nothing.

"So this is what you do on weekends after you leave the store. You spend time with the kids?"

"Always," he said. "I think it's important."

"Even though it sounds like your parents felt differently?"

He hesitated. "That would be the easy answer, right? I felt slighted somehow and made a promise to myself to be different? It sounds good, but I don't know if it's totally accurate. The truth is that I spend time with them because I enjoy it. I enjoy them. I like watching them grow up and I want to be part of that."

As he answered, I found myself remembering my own childhood, trying and failing to imagine either of my parents echoing Edward's sentiments.

"Why did you join the army after you got out of school?"

"At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do. I was up for a new challenge, I wanted to try something different, and joining gave me an excuse to leave Washington. With the exception of a couple of swim meets here and there, I'd never even left the state."

"Did you ever see… ?"

When I trailed off, he finished my sentence. "Combat? No, I wasn't that kind of army. I was a criminal justice major in college and I ended up in CID."

"What's that?"

When he told me, I turned toward him. "Like the police?"

He nodded. "I was a detective," he said.

I said nothing. Instead, I turned away abruptly, my face closing down like a gate slamming shut.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head without answering. Edward stared at me, wondering what was going on. His suspicions about my past surfaced almost immediately.

"What's going on, Bella?"

"Nothing," I insisted, but as soon as the word came out, he knew I wasn't telling the truth. In another place and time, he would have followed up with another question, but instead, he let it drop.

"We don't have to talk about it," he said quietly. "And besides, it's not who I am anymore. Believe me when I say I'm a lot happier running a general store."

I nodded, but he sensed a trace of lingering anxiety. He could tell I needed space, even if he wasn't sure why. He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. "Listen, I forgot to add more briquettes to the grill. If the kids don't get their s'mores, I'll never hear the end of it. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure," I answered, feigning nonchalance. When he jogged off, I exhaled, feeling like I'd somehow escaped. "He used to be a police officer," I thought to myself, and I tried to tell myselg that it didn't matter.

Even so, it took almost a minute of steady breathing before I felt somewhat in control again. Lexi and Noah were in the same places, though Lexi had bent over to examine another seashell, ignoring her soaring kite.

I heard Edward approaching behind me.

"Told you it wouldn't take long," he said easily. "After we eat the s'mores, I was thinking about calling it a day. I'd love to stay out until the sun sets, but Noah has school tomorrow."

"Whenever you want to go is fine with me," I said, crossing my arms.

Noting my rigid shoulders and the tight way I;d spoken the words, he furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure what I said that bothered you, but I'm sorry, okay?" he finally said. "Just know that I'm here if you want to talk about it."

I nodded without answering, and though Edward waited for more, there was nothing. "Is this the way it's going to be with us?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like I'm suddenly walking on eggshells around you, but I don't know why."

"I'd tell you but I can't," I said. My voice was almost inaudible over the sound of the waves.

"Can you at least tell me what I said? Or what I did?"

I turned toward him. "You didn't say or do anything wrong. But right now, I can't say any more than that, okay?"

He studied me. "Okay," he said. "As long as you're still having a good time."

It took some effort, but I finally managed a smile. "This is the best day I've spent in a long time. Best weekend in fact."

"You're still mad about the bike, aren't you?" he said, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. Despite the tension I felt, I laughed.

"Of course. It's going to take a long time for me to recover from that," I said, pretending to pout.

Turning his gaze to the horizon, he seemed relieved.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, turning serious again. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Anything," he said.

"What happened to your wife? You said she had a seizure, but you haven't told me why she was sick."

He sighed, as if he'd known all along I was going to ask but still had to steel himself to answer. "She had a brain tumor," he began slowly. "Or, more accurately, she had three different types of brain tumors. I didn't know it then, but I learned that's fairly common. The one that was slow-growing was just what you'd think; it was about the size of an egg and the surgeons were able to take most of it out. But the other tumors weren't so simple. They were the kind of tumors that spread like spider legs, and there was no way to remove them without removing part of her brain. They were aggressive, too. The doctors did the best they could, but even when they walked out of surgery and told me that it had gone as well as it could, I knew exactly what they meant."

"I can't imagine hearing something like that." I stared down at the sand.

"I admit I had trouble believing it. It was so… unexpected. I mean, the week before, we were a normal family, and the next thing I knew, she was dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

Off to the side, Lexi and Noah were still concentrating on their kites but I knew that Edward could barely see them.

"After surgery, it took a few weeks for her to get back on her feet and I wanted to believe that things were okay. But after that, week by week, I began to notice little changes. The left side of her body started to get weaker and she was taking longer and longer naps. It was hard, but the worst part for me was that she began to pull away from the kids. Like she didn't want them to remember her being sick; she wanted them to remember the way she used to be." He paused before finally shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you that. She was a great mom. I mean, look how well they're turning out."

"I think their father has something to do with that, too."

"I try. But half the time, it doesn't feel like I know what I'm doing. It's like I'm faking it."

"I think all parents feel like that."

He turned toward me. "Did yours?"

I hesitated. "I think my parents did the best they could." Not a ringing endorsement, but the truth.

"Are you close with them?"

"They died in a car accident when I was nineteen."

He stared at me. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was tough," I said.

"Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"No," I said. I turned toward the water. "It's just me."

A few minutes later, Edward helped the kids reel in their kites and we headed back to the picnic area. The coals weren't quite ready and Edward used the time to rinse the boogie boards and shake sand from the towels before pulling out what he needed for the s'mores.

Lexi and Noah helped pack up most of their things and I put the rest of the food back into the cooler while Edward began ferrying items to the jeep. By the time he was finished, only a blanket and four chairs remained.

The kids had arranged them in a circle while Edward handed out long prongs and the bag of marshmallows. In his excitement, Noah ripped it open, spilling a small pile onto the blanket.

Following the kids' lead, I pushed three marshmallows onto the prong and the four of us stood over the grill, twirling the prongs, while the sugary puffs turned golden brown. I held mine a little too close to the heat and two of the marshmallows caught on fire, which Edward quickly blew out.

When they were ready, Edward helped the kids finish the treat: chocolate on the graham cracker, followed by the marshmallow and topped with another cracker. It was sticky and sweet and the best thing I had eaten in as long as I could remember.

Sitting between his kids, I noticed Edward struggling with his crumbling s'more, making a mess, and when he used his fingers to wipe his mouth, it made matters only worse. The kids found it hilarious, and I couldn't help giggling as well, and I felt a sudden, unexpected surge of hope. Despite the tragedy we'd all gone through, this was what a happy family looked like; this, I thought, is what a loving family did when we were together.

For us, it was nothing but an ordinary day on an ordinary weekend, but for me, there was something revelatory about the notion that wonderful moments like these existed. And that maybe, just maybe, it would be possible for me to experience similar days in the future.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**(Bella's POV)**

"Then what happened?"

Rose was sitting across from me at the table, the kitchen glowing yellow, illuminated only by the light above the stove. After I had returned, she'd come over, specks of paint in her hair. I had started a pot of coffee and two cups were on the table.

"Nothing, really. After finishing the s'mores, we walked down the beach one last time, then got in the car and drove home."

"Did he walk you to the door?"

"Yes."

"Did you invite him in?"

"He had to get the kids back home."

"Did you kiss him good night?"

"Of course not."

"Why not?"

"Weren't you listening? He was bringing his kids to the beach and he invited me along. It wasn't a date."

Rose raised her coffee cup. "It sounds like a date."

"It was a family day."

Rose considered that. "It sounded like the two of you spent a lot of time talking."

I leaned back in my chair. "I think you wanted it to be a date."

"Why would I want that?"

"I have no idea. But ever since we've met, in every conversation, you bring him up somehow. It's like you've been trying to… I don't know. Make sure I notice him."

Rose swirled the contents of her cup before setting it back on the table. "And have you?"

I threw up my hands. "See what I mean?"

Rose laughed before shaking her head. "All right. How about this?" She hesitated, then went on. "I've met a lot of people, and over time I've developed instincts that I've learned to trust. As we both know, Edward is a great guy, and once I got to know you, I felt the same way about you. Other than that, I haven't done anything more than tease you about it. It's not like I dragged you to the store and introduced the two of you. Nor was I around when he asked you to go to the beach, an invitation you were more than willing to accept."

"Lexi asked me to go…"

"I know. You told me that," Rose said, arching an eyebrow. "And I'm sure that's the only reason you went."

I scowled. "You have a funny way of twisting things around."

Rose laughed again. "Did you ever think that it's because I'm envious? Oh, not that you went with Edward, but that you got to go to the beach on a perfect day, while I was stuck inside painting… for the second day in a row? If I never touch a paint roller again in my life, it'll still be too soon. My arms and shoulders are sore."

I stood up from the table and went to the counter. I poured another cup of coffee for myself and held up the pot. "More?"

"No, thank you. I need to sleep tonight and the caffeine would keep me up. I think I'm going to order some Chinese food. You want any?"

"I'm not hungry," I said. "I ate too much today."

"I don't think that's possible. But you did get a lot of sun. It looks good on you, even if it'll lead to wrinkles later."

I snorted. "Thanks for that."

"What are friends for?" Rose stood and gave a catlike stretch. "And listen, I had a good time last night. Although, I have to admit, I paid for it this morning."

"It was fun," I agreed.

Rose took a couple of steps before turning around. "Oh, I forgot to ask you. Are you going to keep the bike?"

"Yes," I said.

Rose thought about it. "Good for you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that I don't think you should give it back. You obviously need it and he wanted you to have it. Why shouldn't you keep it?" I shrugged. "Your problem is that you sometimes read too much into things."

"Like with my manipulative friend?"

"Do you really think I'm manipulative?"

I thought about it. "Maybe a little."

Rose smiled. "So what's your schedule like this week? Are you working a lot?"

I nodded. "Six nights and three days."

Rose made a face. "Yuck."

"It's okay. I need the money and I'm used to it."

"And, of course, you had a great weekend."

I paused. "Yeah," I said. "I did."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**(Edward's POV)**

The next few days passed uneventfully, which only made them feel longer to me. I hadn't spoken to Bella since I'd dropped her off on Sunday evening. It wasn't completely unexpected, since I knew she was working a lot this week, but more than once I found myself wandering out of the store and staring up the road, feeling vaguely disappointed when I didn't see her.

It was enough to squash the illusion that I'd dazzled her to the point that she couldn't resist stopping by. I was surprised, though, by the almost teenage-like enthusiasm I felt at the prospect of seeing her again, even if she didn't feel the same way. I pictured her on the beach, her chestnut hair fluttering in the breeze, her delicately boned features, and eyes that seemed to change color every time I saw them. Little by little, she'd relaxed as the day had worn on, and I had the sense that going to the beach had softened her resistance somehow.

I wondered not only about her past, but about all the other things I still didn't know about her. I tried to imagine what kind of music she liked, or what she thought about first thing in the morning, or whether or not she'd ever attended a baseball game. I wondered whether she slept on her back or on her side and, if given the choice, whether she preferred a shower to a bath. The more I wondered, the more curious I became.

I wished she would trust me with the details of her past, not because I was under the illusion that I could somehow rescue her or felt that she even needed to be rescued, but because giving voice to the truth of her past meant opening the door to the future. It meant we would be able to have a real conversation.

By Thursday, I was debating whether to drop by her cottage. I wanted to and had once even reached for my keys, but in the end I'd stopped because I had no idea what to say once I got there. Nor could I predict how she might respond. Would she smile? Or be nervous? Would she invite me inside or ask me to leave? As much as I tried to imagine what might happen, I couldn't, and I'd ended up putting the keys aside.

It was complicated. But then again, I reminded myself, she was a mysterious woman.

It didn't take long before Bella admitted that the bicycle was a godsend. Not only was she able to come home between her shifts on the days she pulled doubles, but for the first time, she felt as though she could really begin to explore the town, which was exactly what she did. On Tuesday, she visited a couple of antique stores, enjoyed the watercolor seascapes at a local art gallery, and rode through neighborhoods, marveling at the broad sweeping porches and porticos adorning the historic homes near the waterfront. On Wednesday, she visited the library and spent a couple of hours browsing the shelves and reading the flaps of books, loading the bicycle baskets with novels that interested her.

I had the same air of contentment about me when my kids were around. Somehow I not only had been able to move past the tragedy of losing my wife but had done so with enough strength to help my kids move past the loss as well. When I'd spoken about my wife, Bella had listened for bitterness or self-pity, but there hadn't been any. There'd been sorrow, of course, and a loneliness in my expression as I spoke of her, but at the same time, I'd told Bella about my wife without making her feel like I'd been comparing the two of them. I seemed to accept her, and though she wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, she realized that she was attracted to me.

Beyond that, her feelings were complicated. Not since Seattle had she lowered her guard enough to let someone else get so close, and that ended up being a nightmare. But as hard as she'd tried to remain aloof, it seemed that every time she saw me, something happened to draw us together. Sometimes by accident, like when Noah fell in the river and she'd stayed with Lexi, but sometimes it seemed almost preordained. Like the storm rolling in or Lexi wandering out and pleading with her to come to the beach. To this point, she'd had enough sense to volunteer little about herself, but that was the thing. The more time she spent with me, the more she had the sense that I knew far more than I was letting on, and it frightened her. It made her feel naked and vulnerable and it was part of the reason she'd avoided going to the store at all this week. She needed time to think, time to decide what, if anything, she was going to do about it.

Unfortunately, she'd spent too much time dwelling on the way the fine lines at the corners of my eyes crinkled when I grinned or the graceful way he'd emerged from the surf. She thought about how Lexi would reach for my hand and the absolute trust Bella saw in that simple gesture. Early on, Rose had said something along the lines that I was a good man, the kind of man who would do the right thing, and though Bella couldn't claim to know him well, her instincts told her I was a man she could trust. That no matter what she told me, I would support her. That I would guard her secrets and never use what I knew to hurt her.

It was irrational and illogical and it went against everything she'd promised herself when she'd moved here, but she realized that she wanted me to know her. She wanted me to understand her, if only because she had the strange sense that I was the kind of man she could fall in love with, even if she didn't want to.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**(Edward's POV)**

Butterfly hunting.

The notion had popped into my head soon after waking on Saturday morning, even before I'd gone downstairs to open the store. Strangely, as I'd been pondering the possibilities of what to do with the kids that day, I'd remembered a project I'd done in the sixth grade. The teacher had asked the students to make an insect collection. I flashed to a memory of running through a grassy field at recess, chasing after everything from bumblebees to katydids. I was certain that Noah and Lexi would enjoy it, and feeling proud of myself for coming up with something exciting and original to occupy a weekend afternoon, I sifted through the fishing nets I had in the store, choosing three that were about the right size.

When I told them at lunch, Noah and Lexi were less than enthusiastic about the idea.

"I don't want to hurt any butterflies," Lexi protested. "I like butterflies."

"We don't have to hurt them. We can let them go."

"Then why catch them in the first place?"

"Because it's fun."

"It doesn't sound fun. It sounds mean."

I opened my mouth to respond, but I wasn't sure what to say. Noah took another bite of his grilled cheese sandwich.

"It's pretty hot already, Dad," Noah pointed out, talking as he chewed.

"That's okay. Afterward, we can swim in the creek. And chew with your mouth closed." Noah swallowed.

"Why don't we just swim in the creek now?"

"Because we're going butterfly hunting."

"Can we go to a movie instead?"

"Yeah!" Lexi said. "Let's go to a movie."

Parenting, I thought, could be exasperating.

"It's a beautiful day and we're not going to spend it sitting inside. We're going butterfly hunting. And not only that, you're going to enjoy it, okay?"

After lunch, I drove them to a field on the outskirts of town that was filled with wildflowers. I handed them their nets and sent them on their way, watching as Noah sort of dragged his net while Lexi held hers tucked against her, in much the same way she held her dolls.

I took matters into my own hands and jogged ahead of both of them, my net at the ready. Up ahead, fluttering among the wildflowers, I spotted dozens of butterflies. When I got close enough, I swung my net, capturing one. Squatting down, I carefully began to shift the net, allowing the orange and brown colors to show through.

"Wow!" I shouted, trying to sound as enthusiastic as I could. "I got one!"

The next thing I knew, Noah and Lexi were peering over his shoulder.

"Be careful with it, Daddy!" Lexi cried.

"I will, baby. Look at how pretty the colors are."

They leaned in even closer.

"Cool!" Noah shouted, and a moment later, he was off and running, swinging the net with abandon.

Lexi continued to study the butterfly. "What kind is it?"

"It's a skipper," I said. "But I don't know exactly what kind."

"I think he's scared," Lexi said.

"I'm sure he's fine. But I'll let him go, okay?"

She nodded as I carefully pulled the net inside out. In the open air, the butterfly clung to the net before taking off in flight. Lexi's eyes went wide with wonder.

"Can you help me catch one?" she asked.

"I'd love to."

They spent a little more than an hour running among the flowers. We caught about eight different kinds of butterflies, including a buckeye, though the vast majority were skippers like the first. By the time they finished, the kids' faces were red and shiny, so I drove them to get ice cream cones before heading to the creek behind the house. The three of them jumped off the dock together—Noah and Lexi wearing life preservers—and floated downstream in the slow-moving water. It was the kind of day I'd spent as a kid. By the time we got out of the water, I was contented by the thought that, aside from going to the beach, it was the best weekend we'd had in a while.

But it was tiring, too. Afterward, once the kids had showered, we wanted to watch a movie, and I popped in "Homeward Bound", a movie they'd seen a dozen times but were always willing to watch again. From the kitchen, I could see them on the couch, neither one moving in the slightest, staring at the television in that dazed way particular to exhausted children.

I wiped the kitchen counters and loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, started a load of laundry, straightened up the living room, and gave the kids' bathroom a good scrubbing before finally sitting beside them on the couch for a while. Noah curled up on one side, Lexi on the other. By the time the movie ended, I could feel his own eyelids beginning to droop. After working at the store and playing with the kids and cleaning the house, it felt good to simply relax for a while.

The sound of Noah's voice jarred him awake.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"What's for dinner? I'm starved."

From the waitress stand, Bella peered out at the deck and then turned back again, staring as I and the kids followed the hostess to an open table near the railing. Lexi smiled and waved as soon as she saw Bella, and hesitated only a second before scooting between the tables and hurtling directly for her. Bella bent down as the little girl threw her arms around her.

"We wanted to surprise you!" Lexi said.

"Well, you did. What are you doing here?"

"My dad didn't want to cook for us tonight."

"He didn't?"

"He said he was too tired."

"There's more to the story," I announced. "Trust me."

Bella hadn't heard me come up, and she stood.

"Oh, hey," she said, blushing against her will.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Good." She nodded, feeling a bit flustered. "Busy, as you can tell."

"It seems like it. We had to wait before they could seat us in your section."

"It's been like that all day."

"Well, we won't keep you. C'mon, Lexi. Let's go to the table. We'll see you in a few minutes or whenever you're ready."

"Bye, Miss Bella." Lexi waved again.

Bella watched us walk to the table, strangely excited by their visit. She saw me open the menu and lean forward to help Lexi with hers, and for an instant, she wished she were sitting with them.

She retucked her shirt and glanced at her reflection in the stainless steel coffeepot. She couldn't make out much, only a blurry image, but it was enough to make her run a hand through her hair. Then, after a quick check to make sure her shirt hadn't been stained—nothing she could do about it, of course, but she still wanted to know—she walked over to the table.

"Hey, guys," she said, addressing the kids. "I hear your dad didn't want to cook dinner for you."

Lexi giggled but Noah simply nodded. "He said he was tired."

"That's what I heard," she said.

I rolled my eyes. "Thrown under the bus by my own kids. I just can't believe it."

"I wouldn't throw you under the bus, Daddy," Lexi said seriously.

"Thank you, sweetie."

Bella smiled. "Are you thirsty? Can I get you something to drink?"

We ordered sweet teas all around, along with a basket of hush puppies. Lexi brought the drinks to the table and as she walked away, she felt my gaze on her. She fought the urge to peek over her shoulder, though she desperately wanted to.

For the next few minutes, she took orders and cleared plates from other tables, delivered a couple of meals, and finally returned with the basket of hush puppies.

"Be careful," she said. "They're still hot."

"That's when they're the best," Noah said, reaching into the basket. Lexi reached for one as well.

"We went butterfly hunting today," she said.

"You did?"

"Yep. But we didn't hurt them. We let them go."

"That sounds like fun. Did you have a good time?"

"It was awesome!" Noah said. "I caught, like, a hundred of them! And then we went swimming."

"What a great day," Bella said sincerely. "No wonder your dad is tired."

"I'm not tired," both Noah and Lexi said, almost simultaneously.

"Maybe not," I said, "but you're both still going to bed early. Because your poor old dad needs to go to sleep."

Bella shook her head. "Don't be so hard on yourself," she said. "You're not poor."

It took me a moment to realize she was teasing, and I laughed. It was loud enough for the people at the next table to notice, though I didn't seem to care.

"I come in here to relax and enjoy my dinner, and I end up getting picked on by the waitress."

"It's a tough life."

"You're telling me. Next thing I know, you'll be telling me that I might want to order from the kids' menu, seeing as how I'm gaining weight."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," she said with a pointed glance at my midsection. I laughed again, and when I looked at her she saw an appreciative gleam in my eye, reminding her that I found her attractive.

"I think we're ready to order now," I said.

"What can I get you?"

I ordered for them and Bella jotted it down. She held my gaze for a moment before leaving the table and dropping the order off in the kitchen. As she continued to work the tables in her station—as quickly as people left, they were replaced—she found excuses to swing by my table. She refilled our waters and our teas, she removed the basket when we were done with the hush puppies, and she brought Noah a new fork after his had dropped on the floor. She chatted easily with me and the kids, enjoying every moment, and eventually brought our dinners.

Later, when we were through, she cleared the table and dropped off the check. By then, the sun was getting lower and Lexi had begun to yawn, and if anything, the restaurant had gotten busier. She had time for only a quick good-bye as the kids scrambled down the stairs, but when I hesitated, she had the sense that I was about to ask her out. She wasn't sure how she was going to handle it, but before I could get the words out, one of her customers spilled a beer. The customer stood quickly from the table, bumping it, and two more glasses toppled over. I stepped back, the moment broken, knowing she had to go.

"See you soon," I said, waving as I trailed after my kids.

The following day, Bella pushed open the door to the store only half an hour after opening.

"You're here early," I said, surprised.

"I was up early and just thought I'd get my shopping out of the way."

"Did it ever slow down last night?"

"Finally. But a couple of people have been out this week. One went to her sister's wedding, and another called in sick. It's been crazy."

"I could tell. But the food was great, even if the service was a little slow."

When she fixed me with an irate expression, I laughed. "Just getting you back for teasing me last night." I shook my head. "Calling me old. I'll have you know my hair went gray before I was thirty."

"You're very sensitive about that," she noted with a teasing tone. "But trust me. It looks good on you. It lends a certain air of respectability."

"Is that good or bad?"

She smiled without giving an answer before reaching for a basket. As she did, she heard me clear my throat.

"Are you working as much this coming week?"

"Not as much."

"How about next weekend?"

She thought about it. "I'm off Saturday. Why?"

I shifted myweight from one foot to the other before meeting her eyes. "Because I was wondering if I might be able to take you to dinner. Just the two of us this time. No kids."

She knew we were at a crossroads, one that would change the tenor of things between them. At the same time, it was the reason she'd come to the store as early as she had. She wanted to figure out whether she'd been mistaken about what she'd seen in my expression the previous evening, because it was the first time she knew for certain that she wanted me to ask.

In the silence, though, I seemed to misread what she was thinking. "Never mind. It's not that big of a deal."

"Yes," she said, holding his gaze. "I'd love dinner. But on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You've already done so much for me that I'd rather do something for you this time. How about I make you dinner instead? At my house."

I smiled, relieved. "That sounds perfect."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**(Bella's POV)**

On Saturday, I woke later than usual. I'd spent the past few days frantically shopping and decorating my house—a new sheer lace curtain for the living room window, some inexpensive prints for the walls, a few small area rugs, and real place mats and glasses for Edward's and I dinner. Friday night I'd worked until after midnight, plumping up my new throw pillows and giving the house a final cleaning. Despite the sun that slanted through my windows and striped my bed, I woke only when I heard the sounds of someone hammering. Checking the clock, I saw it was already after nine.

Stumbling out of bed, I yawned and then walked toward the kitchen to hit the switch on the coffeepot before stepping out onto the porch, squinting in the brightness of the morning sun. Rose was on her front porch, the hammer poised for another whack, when she spotted me.

Rose put the hammer down. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Yeah, but that's okay. I had to get up anyway. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to keep the shutter from falling off. When I got home last night, it was hanging cockeyed, and I was sure it was going to give way in the middle of the night. Of course, thinking that the crash might wake me up any minute kept me from falling asleep for hours."

"Do you need some help?"

"No, I've just about got it."

"How about coffee?"

"Sounds great. I'll be over in a few minutes."

I went to my bedroom, slipped out of my pajamas, and threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I brushed my teeth and hair, just enough to get the tangles out. Through the window, I saw Rose walking toward the house. I opened the front door.

I poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Rose as soon as she entered the kitchen.

"Your house is really coming together! I love the rugs and the pictures."

I gave a modest shrug. "Yeah, well… Southport is starting to feel like home, I guess. I figured I should start making this house into something more permanent."

"It's really amazing. It's like you're finally beginning to nest."

"How's your place coming?"

"It's getting better. I'll bring you by when it's ready."

"Where've you been? I haven't seen you around lately."

Rose gave a dismissive wave. "I was out of town for a few days on business, and then I went to visit someone last weekend, and then I was working. You know the drill."

"I've been working a lot, too. I've had a ton of shifts lately."

"You working tonight?"

I took a sip of my coffee. "No. I'm having someone over for dinner."

Rose's eyes lit up. "Do you want me to guess who it could be?"

"You already know who it is." I tried to stop the slow flush that was creeping up my neck.

"I knew it!" she said. "Good for you. Have you decided what you're going to wear?"

"Not yet."

"Well, no matter what you decide, you'll look beautiful, I'm sure. And you're going to cook?"

"Believe it or not, I'm actually a fairly good cook."

"What are you going to make?"

When I told her, Rose raised her eyebrows.

"Sounds yummy," Rose said. "That's great. I'm happy for you. Both of you, actually. Are you excited?"

"It's only dinner…"

"I'll take that as a yes." She winked. "It's too bad I can't stick around to spy on the two of you. I'd love to watch how it all unfolds, but unfortunately, I'm heading out of town."

"Yes," I said. "That's really too bad you're not going to be here."

Rose laughed. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, by the way. But just so you know, I'm not going to let you off the hook. As soon as I get back, I'm going to need the full play-by-play."

"It's just dinner," I said again.

"Which means that you won't have any trouble telling me all about it."

"I think you need another hobby."

"Probably," Rose agreed. "But right now, I'm having plenty of fun living vicariously through you since my love life is pretty much nonexistent. A girl needs to be able to dream, you know?"

My first stop was the hair salon. There, a young woman named Brittany trimmed and styled my hair, chatting nonstop the entire time. Across the street was the only women's boutique in Southport, and I stopped there next. Though I'd ridden past the store, I'd never been inside before. It had been one of the stores I'd never imagined myself either wanting or needing to go into, but as I began to browse, I was pleasantly surprised not only by the selections, but by some of the prices. Well, on the sale items, anyway, which was where I focused my attention.

It was an odd experience to shop alone in a clothing store like this. I hadn't done such a thing in a long time, and as I changed in the dressing room, I felt more carefree than I had in years.

I bought a couple of sale items, including a tan formfitting blouse with beading and stitching that scooped a bit in the front, not dramatically but enough to accent my figure. I also found a gorgeous patterned summer skirt that complemented the blouse perfectly. The skirt was a little too long, but I knew I could fix that. After paying for my purchases, I wandered two doors down, to what I knew was the only shoe store in town, where I picked up a pair of sandals. Again, they were on sale and although ordinarily I would have felt almost frantic about shopping, the tips had been good over the last few days and I'd decided to splurge. Within reason, of course.

From there, I went first to the drugstore to buy a few things and then finally rode across town to the grocery store. I took my time, content to browse the aisles, feeling the old, troubling memories trying and failing to reassert themselves.

When I was finished, I rode my bicycle home and started the preparations for dinner. I was making shrimp stuffed with crabmeat, cooked in a scampi sauce. I had to recall the recipe from memory, but I'd made it a dozen times over the years and was confident I hadn't forgotten anything. As side dishes, I'd decided on stuffed peppers and corn bread, and as an appetizer, I wanted to make a bacon-wrapped Brie, topped with a raspberry sauce.

It had been a long time since I'd prepared such an elaborate meal, but I'd always loved to cut recipes from magazines, even from a young age. Cooking was the one enthusiasm I'd been able to share occasionally with my mom.

I spent the rest of the afternoon hurrying. I mixed the bread and put it in the oven, then readied the ingredients for the stuffed peppers. Those went into the refrigerator along with the bacon-wrapped Brie. When the corn bread was done, I placed it on the counter to cool and started the raspberry sauce. Not much to it—sugar, raspberries, and water—but by the time it was ready, the kitchen smelled heavenly. That went into the fridge as well. Everything else could wait until later.

In my bedroom, I shortened the skirt to just above the knee, then made a last tour of the house to make sure everything was in place. Finally, I began to undress.

As I slipped into the shower, I thought about Edward. I visualized his easy smile and the graceful way he moved, and the memory started a slow burn in my belly. Despite myself, I wondered whether he was taking a shower at the same time I was. There was something erotic in the idea, the promise of something exciting and new. It was just dinner, I reminded myself again, but even then, I knew I wasn't being completely honest with myself.

There was another force at work here, something I'd been trying to deny. I was attracted to him more than I wanted to admit, and as I stepped out of the shower I knew I had to be careful. He was the kind of man I knew I could fall for, and the notion frightened me. I wasn't ready for that. Not yet, anyway.

Then again, I heard a voice inside my whisper, maybe I was.

After toweling off, I moisturized my skin with a sweet-smelling body lotion, then put on my new outfit, including the sandals, before reaching for the makeup I'd purchased from the drugstore. I didn't need much, just some lipstick, mascara, and a trace of eye shadow. I brushed my hair and then put on a pair of dangly earrings I'd bought on a whim. When I was finished, I stepped back from the mirror.

"That's it", I thought to myself, "that's all I've got." I turned one way, then the other, tugging at the blouse before finally smiling. I hadn't looked this good in a long time.

Though the sun had finally moved toward the western sky, the house was still warm and I opened the kitchen window. The breeze was enough to keep me cool as I set the table. Earlier in the week, as I'd been leaving the store, Edward had asked me if he could bring a bottle of wine, and I put a couple of glasses out. In the center of the table, I placed a candle and as I stepped back, I heard the sound of an engine approaching. I saw from the clock that Edward was right on time.

I drew a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Then, after walking across the room and opening the door, I stepped out onto the porch. Dressed in jeans and a blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, Edward was standing at the driver's-side door and leaning into the car, obviously reaching for something. His hair was still a little damp near his collar.

Edward pulled out two bottles of wine and turned around. Seeing me, he seemed to freeze, his expression one of disbelief. I stood surrounded by the last rays of the setting sun, perfectly radiant, and for a moment all he could do was stare.

His wonder was obvious, and I let it wash over me, knowing I wanted the feeling to last forever.

"You made it," I said.

The sound of my voice was enough to break the spell, but Edward continued to stare. He knew he should say something witty, something charming to break the tension, but instead he found himself thinking, I'm in trouble.

Serious trouble.

Edward wasn't exactly sure when it had happened. Or even when it started. It may have been the morning when he'd seen Lexi holding Bella after Noah had fallen in the river, or the rainy afternoon when he'd driven her home, or even during the day they had spent at the beach. All he knew for sure was that right here and now, he was falling hard for this woman, and he could only pray that she was feeling the same way.

In time, he was finally able to clear his throat. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I did."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**(Bella's POV)**

The early evening sky was a prism of colors as I led Edward through the small living room and toward the kitchen.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a glass of wine," I said.

"Good idea," he agreed. "I wasn't sure what we were having, so I brought both a sauvignon blanc and azinfandel. Do you have a preference?"

"I'll let you pick," I said.

In the kitchen, I leaned against the counter, one leg crossed over the other while Edward twisted the corkscrew into the cork. For once, he seemed more nervous than I was. With a series of quick movements, he opened the bottle of sauvignon blanc. I set the glasses on the counter next to him, conscious of how close together we were standing.

"I know I should have said it when I first got here, but you look beautiful."

"Thank you," I said.

He poured some wine, then set the bottle aside and handed me a glass. As I took it, he could smell the coconut-scented body lotion I'd used.

"I think you'll like the wine. At least, I hope so."

"I'm sure I'll love it," I said, raising my glass. "Cheers," I offered, clinking my glass against his.

I took a sip, feeling inordinately pleased about everything: how I looked and felt, the taste of the wine, the lingering scent of the raspberry sauce, the way Edward kept eyeing me while trying not to be obvious about it.

"Would you like to sit on the porch?" I suggested.

He nodded. Outside, we each sat in one of the rockers. In the slowly cooling air, the crickets began their chorus, welcoming the coming night.

I savored the wine, enjoying the fruity tang it left on my tongue. "How were Lexi and Noah today?"

"They were good." Edward shrugged. "I took them to a movie."

"But it was so pretty outside."

"I know. But with Memorial Day on Monday, I figure we can still spend a couple of days outside."

"Is the store open on Memorial Day?"

"Of course. It's one of the busiest days of the year, since everyone wants to spend the holiday on the water. I'll probably work until one o'clock or so."

"I'd say I feel sorry for you, but I'm working, too."

"Maybe we'll come in and bother you again."

"You didn't bother me at all." I peered at him over the top of my wineglass. "Well, the kids didn't bother me, anyway. As I recall, you were complaining about the quality of service."

"Us old guys will do that," he quipped.

I laughed before rocking back in the chair. "When I'm not working, I like to sit out here and read. It's just so quiet, you know? Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one around for miles."

"You are the only one around for miles. You live in the sticks."

I playfully slapped his shoulder. "Watch it. I happen to like my little house."

"You should. It's in better shape than I thought it would be. It's homey."

"It's getting there," I said. "It's a work in progress. And best of all, it's mine, and no one's going to take it away."

He looked over at me then. I was staring out over the gravel road, into the grassy field beyond.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I took my time before answering. "I was just thinking that I'm glad you're here. You don't even know me."

"I think I know you well enough."

I said nothing to that. Edward watched as I lowered her gaze.

"You think you know me," I whispered, "but you don't."

Edward sensed that I was scared to say any more. In the silence, he heard the porch creaking as he rocked back and forth. "How about I tell you what I think I know, and you tell me if I'm right or wrong? Would that be okay?"

I nodded, my lips compressed. When Edward went on, his voice was soft.

"I think you're intelligent and charming, and that you're a person with a kind heart. I know that when you want to, you can look more beautiful than anyone I've ever met. You're independent, you've got a good sense of humor, and you show surprising patience with children. You're right in thinking that I don't know the specifics of your past, but I don't know that they're all that important unless you want to tell me about them. Everyone has a past, but that's just it—it's in the past. You can learn from it, but you can't change it. Besides, I never knew that person.

The person I've come to know is the one I want to get to know even better."

As he spoke, I gave a fleeting smile. "You make it sound so simple," I said.

"It can be."

I twisted the stem of my wineglass, considering his words. "But what if the past isn't in the past? What if it's still happening?"

Edward continued to stare at me, holding my gaze. "You mean… what if he finds you?"

I flinched. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he said. He kept his voice steady, almost conversational, something he'd learned in CID. "I'm guessing that you were married once… and that maybe he's trying to find you."

I froze, my eyes going wide. It was suddenly hard to breathe and I jumped up from the chair, spilling the rest of my wine. I took a step away from Edward, staring, feeling the blood drain from my face.

"How do you know so much about me? Who told you?" I demanded, my mind racing, trying to piece it together. There was no way he could know those things. It wasn't possible. I hadn't told anyone.

Except for Rose.

The realization was enough to leave me breathless and I glanced at the cottage next door. My neighbor, I thought, had betrayed me. My friend had betrayed me—

As fast as my mind was working, Edward's was working as well. He could see the fear in my expression, but he'd seen it before. Too many times. And, he knew, it was time to stop playing games if they wanted to be able to move forward.

"No one told me," he assured me. "But your reaction makes it clear that I'm right. That's not the important question. I don't know that person, Bella. If you want to tell me about your past, I'm willing to listen and help in anyway I can, but I'm not going to ask you about it. And if you don't want to tell me, that's okay, too, because, again—In ever knew that person. You must have a good reason for keeping it secret, and that means I'm not going to tell anyone, either. No matter what happens, or doesn't happen, between us. Go ahead and make up a brand-new history if you want and I'll back you up word for word. You can trust me on that."

I stared at him as he spoke, confused and scared and angry, but absorbing every word.

"But… how?"

"I've learned to notice things that other people don't," he went on. "There was a time in my life when that was all I did. And you're not the first woman I've met in your position."

I continued to stare at him, wheels turning. "When you were in the army," I concluded.

He nodded, holding my gaze. Finally, he stood from the chair and took a cautious step toward me. "Can I pour you another glass of wine?"

Still in turmoil, I couldn't answer, but when he reached for my glass, I let him take it. The porch door opened with a squeak and closed behind him, leaving me alone.

I paced to the railing, my thoughts chaotic. I fought the instinct to pack a bag and grab my coffee can full of money and leave town as soon as I could.

But what then? If Edward could figure out the truth simply by watching me, then it was possible for someone else to figure it out, too. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't be like Edward.

Behind me, I heard the door squeak open again. Edward stepped onto the porch, joining me at the railing. He set the glass in front of me.

"Did you figure it out yet?"

"Figure what out?"

"Whether you're going to take off to parts unknown as soon as you can?"

I turned to him, her face registering shock.

He held open his hands. "What else would you be thinking? But just so you know, I'm curious only because I'm kind of hungry. I'd hate for you to leave before we eat."

It took me a moment to realize he was teasing, and though I wouldn't have believed it possible considering the last few minutes, I found myself smiling in relief.

"We'll have dinner," I said.

"And tomorrow?"

Instead of answering, I reached for my wine. "I want to know how you knew."

"It wasn't one thing," he said. He mentioned a few of the things he'd noticed before finally shaking his head.

"Most people wouldn't have put it all together."

I studied the depths of my glass. "But you did."

"I couldn't help it. It's kind of ingrained."

I thought about it. "That means you've known for a while, then. Or at least had suspicions."

"Yes," he admitted.

"Which is why you never asked about my past."

"Yes," he said again.

"And you still wanted to go out with me?"

His expression was serious. "I've wanted to go out with you from the first moment I saw you. I just had to wait until you were ready."

With the last of the sunlight fading from the horizon, twilight descended, turning the flat, cloudless sky a pale violet. We stood at the railing and Edward watched as the southern breeze gently lifted wayward strands of my hair.

My skin took on a peachy glow; he saw the subtle rise and fall of my chest as I breathed. I gazed into the distance, my expression unreadable, and Edward felt something catch in his throat as he wondered what I was thinking.

"You never answered my question," he finally said.

I stayed quiet for a moment before a shy smile finally appeared.

"I think I'm going to stay in Southport for a while, if that's what you're asking," I answered.

He breathed in my scent. "You can trust me, you know."

I leaned into him, feeling his strength as he slipped his arm around me. "I guess I'm going to have to, aren't I?"

We returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. I set my glass of wine aside as I slid the appetizer and stuffed peppers into the oven. Still reeling from Edward's disturbingly accurate assessment of my past, I was glad for tasks to keep me busy. It was hard to fathom that he still wanted to spend an evening with me. And more important, that I wanted to spend an evening with him. Deep in my heart, I wasn't sure I deserved to be happy, nor did I believe that I was worthy of someone who seemed… normal.

That was the dirty secret associated with my past. Not that I'd been abused but that somehow I felt that I deserved it because I'd let it happen. Even now, it shamed me, and there were times when I felt hideously ugly, as though the scars that had been left behind were visible to everyone.

But here and now, it mattered less than it once had, because I somehow suspected that Edward understood my shame. And accepted that, too.

From the refrigerator, I pulled out the raspberry sauce I'd made earlier, and began spooning it into a small saucepan to reheat. It didn't take long, and after setting it aside, I pulled the bacon-wrapped Brie from the oven, topped it with the sauce, and brought the cheese to the table. Suddenly remembering, I retrieved my wine from the counter and joined Edward at the table.

"This is just to start," I said. "The peppers are going to take a little longer."

He leaned toward the platter. "It smells amazing."

He moved a piece of Brie to his plate and took a bite. "Wow," he said.

I grinned. "Good, huh?"

"It's delicious. Where did you learn to do this?"

"I was friends with a chef once. He told me this would wow just about anyone."

He cut another piece with his fork. "I'm glad you're staying in Southport," he said. "I can easily imagine myself eating this regularly, even if I have to barter items at my store to get it."

"The recipe isn't complicated."

"You haven't seen me cook. I'm great with kid food, but after that, it starts going downhill fast."

He reached for his glass and took a sip of wine. "I think the cheese might go better with the red. Do you mind if I open the other bottle?"

"Not at all."

He walked over to the counter and opened the zinfandel while I went to the cupboard and removed two more glasses. Edward poured wine into each and handed one to me. We were standing close enough to brush up against each other and Edward had to fight the urge to pull me close and wrap his arms around me. Instead, he cleared his throat.

"I want to tell you something, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

I hesitated. "Why don't I like the sound of this?"

"I just wanted to tell you how much I've been looking forward to tonight. I mean… I've been thinking about it all week."

"Why would I take that the wrong way?"

"I don't know. Because you're a woman? Because it makes me sound desperate and women don't like desperate men?"

For the first time that evening, I laughed easily. "I don't think you're desperate. I get the sense you might be a bit overwhelmed at times because of the business and the kids, but it's not like you've been calling me everyday."

"That's only because you don't have a phone. But anyway, I wanted you to know that it means a lot to me. I don't have a lot of experience in things like this."

"Dinner?"

"Dating. It's been a while."

Join the club, I thought to myself. But it made me feel good anyway. "Come on," I said, motioning to the appetizer. "It's better when it's warm."

When the appetizer was finished, Irose from the table and went to the oven. I peeked at the peppers before rinsing the saucepan I'd used earlier. I gathered the ingredients for the scampi sauce and got that started, then began to sauté the shrimp. By the time the shrimp were done, the sauce was ready as well. I put a pepper on each of their plates and added the main course. Then, after dimming the lights, I lit the candle I'd placed at the center of the table. The aroma of butter and garlic and the flickering light against the wall made the old kitchen feel almost new with promise.

We ate and talked while, outside, the stars emerged from hiding. Edward praised the meal more than once, claiming that he'd never tasted anything better. As the candle burned lower and the wine bottle emptied, I revealed bits and pieces about my life growing up in Forks. While I held back about telling Rose the whole truth about my parents, I gave Edward the unvarnished version: the constant moves, my parents' alcoholism, the fact that I'd been on my own since I'd turned eighteen. Edward stayed silent throughout, listening without judgment. Even so, I wasn't sure what he thought about my past. When I finally trailed off, I found myself wondering whether I'd said too much. But it was then that he reached over and placed his hand on mine.

Though I couldn't meet his gaze, we held hands across the table, neither of us willing to let go, as if we were the only two people remaining in the world.

"I should probably start cleaning the kitchen," I said finally, breaking the spell. I pushed back from the table. Edward heard my chair scrape against the floor, aware that the moment had been lost and wanting nothing more than to get it back.

"I want you to know I've had a wonderful time tonight," he began.

"Edward… I…"

He shook his head. "You don't have to say anything—"

I didn't let him finish. "I want to, okay?" I stood near the table, my eyes glittering with some unknown emotion. "I've had a wonderful time, too. But I know where this is leading, and I don't want you to get hurt." I exhaled, steeling myself for the words that were coming next. "I can't make promises. I can't tell you where I'll be tomorrow, let alone a year from now. When I first ran, I thought I'd be able to put everything behind me and start over, you know? I'd live my life and simply pretend that none of it ever happened. But how can I do that? You think you know me, but I'm not sure that even I know who I am anymore. And as much as you know about me, there's a lot you don't know."

Edward felt something collapse inside him. "Are you saying that you don't want to see me again?"

"No." I shook my head vehemently. "I'm saying all this because I do want to see you and it scares me because I know deep in my heart that you deserve someone better. You deserve someone you can count on.

Someone your kids can count on. Like I said, there are things you don't know about me."

"Those things don't matter," Edward insisted.

"How can you say that?"

In the silence that followed, Edward could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator. Through the window, the moon had risen and hung suspended over the treetops.

"Because I know me," he finally said, realizing that he was in love with me. He loved the Bella he'd come to know and the Bella he'd never had the chance to meet. He rose from the table, moving closer to me.

"Edward… this can't…"

"Bella," he whispered, and for a moment, neither of us moved. Edward finally put a hand on my hip and pulled me closer. I exhaled, as if setting down an age-old burden, and when I looked up at him, it was suddenly easy for me to imagine that my fears were pointless. That he would love me no matter what I told him, and that he was the kind of man who loved me already and would love me forever.

And it was then I realized that I loved him, too.

With that, I let myself lean into him. I felt our bodies come together as he raised a hand to my hair. His touch was gentle and soft, unlike anything I'd known before, and I watched in wonder as he closed his eyes.

He tilted his head, our faces drawing close.

When our lips finally came together, I could taste the wine on his tongue. I gave myself over to him then, allowing him to kiss my cheek and my neck, and I leaned back, reveling in the sensation. I could feel the moisture of his lips as they brushed against my skin, and I slid my arms around his neck.

This is what it feels like to really love someone, I thought, and to be loved in return, and I could feel the tears beginning to form. I blinked, trying to will them back, but all at once, they were impossible to stop. I loved him and wanted him, but more than that, I wanted him to love the real me, with all my flaws and secrets.

I wanted him to know the whole truth.

We kissed for a long time in the kitchen, our bodies pressed together, his hand moving over my back and in my hair. I shivered at the feel of the slight stubble on his cheeks. When he ran a finger over the skin of my arm, I felt a flood of liquid heat course through her body.

"I want to be with you but I can't," I finally whispered, hoping that he wouldn't be angry.

"It's okay," he whispered. "There's no way tonight could have been any more wonderful than it's already been."

"But you're disappointed."

He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "It's not possible for you to disappoint me," he said.

I swallowed, trying to rid myself of her fears.

"There's something you should know about me," I whispered.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it."

I leaned into him again.

"I can't be with you tonight," I whispered, "for the same reason I could never marry you." I sighed.

"I have a husband."

"I know," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter to you?"

"It's not perfect, but trust me, I'm not perfect, either, so maybe it's best if we take all of this one day at a time. And when you're ready, if you're ever ready, I'll be waiting." He brushed my cheek with his finger. "I love you, Bella. You might not be ready to say those words now, and maybe you'll never be able to say them, but that doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Edward…"

"You don't have to say it," he said.

"Can I explain?" I asked, finally pulling back.

He didn't bother to hide his curiosity.

"I want to tell you something," I said. "I want to tell you about me."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**(Bella's POV)**

Three days before I left New England, a brisk early January wind made the snowflakes freeze, and I had to lower my head as I walked toward the salon. My long brunette hair blew in the wind and I could feel the pinpricks of ice as they tapped against my cheeks. I wore high-heeled pumps, not boots, and my feet were already freezing. Behind me, James sat in the car watching me. Though I didn't turn, I could hear the car idling and could imagine the mouth that was set into a hard, straight line.

The crowds that had filled the strip mall during Christmas were gone. On either side of the salon was a RadioShack and a pet store, both of them empty; no one wanted to be out on a day like today. When I pulled the door, it flew open in the wind and I struggled to close it. Chilled air followed me into the salon and the shoulders of my jacket were coated with a fine layer of white. I slipped off my gloves and jacket, turning around as I did so. I waved good-bye to James and smiled. He liked it when I smiled at him.

My appointment was at two with a woman named Rachel. Most of the stations were already filled and I was unsure where to go. It was my first time here and I was uncomfortable. None of the stylists looked older than thirty and most had wild hair with red and blue tints. A moment later, I was approached by a girl in her mid-twenties, tanned and pierced with a tattoo on her neck.

"Are you my two o'clock? Color and trim?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I'm Rachel. Follow me."

Rachel glanced over her shoulder. "It's cold out there, huh?" Rachel said.

"I almost died on my way to the door. They make us park on the far side of the lot. I hate that, but what can I do, right?"

"It is cold," I agreed.

Rachel led her to a station near the corner. The chair was purple vinyl and the floor was black tile. A place for younger people, I thought. Singles who wanted to stand out. Not married women with blond hair. I fidgeted as Rachel put a smock over me. I wiggled my toes, trying to warm my feet.

"Are you new in the area?" Rachel asked.

"I live in Vancouver," I said.

"That's kind of out of the way. Did someone give you a referral?"

I had passed by the salon two weeks earlier, when James had taken me shopping, but I didn't say that.

Instead, I simply shook my head.

"I guess I'm lucky I answered the phone then." Rachel smiled. "What sort of color do you want?"

I hated to stare at myself in the mirror but I didn't have a choice. I had to get this right. I had to.

Tucked into the mirror in front of me was a photograph of Rachel with someone I assumed to be her boyfriend. He had more piercings than she did and he had a Mohawk. Beneath the smock, I squeezed my hands together.

"I want it to look natural, so maybe some lowlights for winter? And fix the roots, too, so they blend."

Rachel nodded into the mirror. "Do you want it about the same color? Or darker or lighter? Not the lowlights, I mean."

"About the same."

"Foil okay?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Easy as pie," Rachel said. "Just give me a couple of minutes to get things ready and I'll be back, okay?"

I nodded. Off to the side, I saw a woman leaning back at the sink, another stylist beside her. I could hear the water as it was turned on and the hum of conversation from the other stations. Music played faintly over the speakers.

Rachel returned with the foil and the color. Near the chair, she stirred the color, making sure the consistency was right.

"How long have you lived in Vancouver?"

"Four years."

"Where'd you grow up?"

"Washington," I said. "I lived in Seattle before I moved here."

"Was that your husband who dropped you off?"

"Yes."

"He's got a nice car. I saw it when you were waving. What is it? A Mustang?"

I nodded again but didn't answer. Rachel worked for a little while in silence, applying color and wrapping the foil.

"How long have you been married?" Rachel asked as she coated and wrapped a particularly tricky strand of hair.

"Four years."

"That's why you moved to Vancouver, huh?"

"Yes."

Rachel kept up her patter. "So what do you do?"

I stared straight ahead, trying not to see myself. Wishing that I were someone else. I could be here for an hour and a half before James came back and I prayed he wouldn't arrive early.

"I don't have a job," I answered.

"I'd go crazy if I didn't work. Not that it's always easy. What did you do before you were married?"

"I was a cocktail waitress."

"In one of the casinos?"

I nodded.

"Is that where you met your husband?"

"Yes," I said.

"So what's he doing now? While you're getting your hair done?"

He's probably at a bar, I thought. "I don't know."

"Why didn't you drive, then? Like I said, it's kind of out of the way."

"I don't drive. My husband drives me when I need to go somewhere."

"I don't know what I'd do without a car. I mean, it's not much but it gets me to where I need to go. I'd hate to have to depend on someone else like that."

I could smell perfume in the air. The radiator below the counter had begun to click. "I never learned to drive."

Rachel shrugged as she worked another piece of foil into my hair. "It's not hard. Practice a little, take the test, and you're good to go."

I stared at Rachel in the mirror. Rachel seemed to know what she was doing, but she was young and starting out and I still wished she were older and more experienced. Which was odd, because I was probably only a couple of years older than Rachel. Maybe less than that. But I felt old.

"Do you have kids?"

"No."

Perhaps the girl sensed that she'd said something wrong, because she worked in silence for the next few minutes, the foils making me look like I had alien antennae, before finally leading me to another seat.

Rachel turned on a heat lamp.

"I'll be back to check in a few minutes, okay?"

Rachel wandered off, toward another stylist. They were talking but the chatter in the salon made it impossible to overhear them. I glanced at the clock. James would be back in less than an hour. Time was going fast, too fast.

Rachel came back and checked on my hair. "A little while longer," she chirped, and resumed her conversation with her colleague, gesturing with her hands. Animated. Young and carefree. Happy.

More minutes passed. Then, a dozen. I tried not to stare at the clock. Finally, it was time, and Rachel removed the foil before leading me to the sink. I sat and leaned back, resting my neck against the towel.

Rachel turned the water on and I felt a splash of cool water against my cheek. Rachel massaged the shampoo in my hair and scalp and rinsed, then added conditioner and rinsed again.

"Now let's trim you up, okay?"

Back at the station, I thought my hair looked okay, but it was hard to tell when it was wet. It had to be right or James would notice. Rachel combed my hair straight, getting out the tangles. There were forty minutes left.

Rachel stared into the mirror at my reflection. "How much do you want taken off?"

"Not too much," I said. "Just enough to clean it up. My husband likes it long."

"How do you want it styled? I've got a book over there if you want something new."

"How I had it when I came in is fine."

"Will do," Rachel said.

I watched as Rachel used a comb, running my hair through her fingers, then snipped it with the scissors.

First the back, then the sides. And finally the top. Somewhere, Rachel had found a piece of gum and she chewed, her jaw moving up and down as she worked.

"Okay so far?"

"Yes. I think that's enough."

Rachel reached for the hair dryer and a circular brush. She ran the brush slowly through my hair, the noise of the dryer loud in my ear.

"How often do you get your hair done?" Rachel asked, making small talk.

"Once a month," I answered. "But sometimes I just get it cut."

"You have beautiful hair, by the way."

"Thank you."

Rachel continued to work. I asked for some light curls and Rachel brought out the curling iron. It took a couple of minutes to heat up. There were still twenty minutes left.

Rachel curled and brushed until she was finally satisfied and studied me in the mirror.

"How's that?"

I examined the color and the style. "That's perfect," I said.

"Let me show you the back," Rachael said. She spun my chair around and handed me a mirror. I stared into the double reflection and nodded.

"Okay, that's it, then," Rachel said.

"How much is it?"

Rachel told me and I dug into my purse. I pulled out the money I needed, including the tip. "Could I have a receipt?"

"Sure," Rachel said. "Just come with me to the register."

The girl wrote it up. James would check it and ask for the change when I got back in the car, so I made sure Rachel included the tip. I glanced at the clock. Twelve minutes.

James had yet to return and my heart was beating fast as I slipped my jacket and gloves back on. I left the salon while Rachel was still talking to me. Next door, at Radio Shack, I asked the clerk for a disposable cellphone and a card that allowed me twenty hours of service. I felt faint as I said the words, knowing that after this, there was no turning back.

He pulled one out from under the counter and began to ring me up while he explained how it worked. I had extra money in my purse tucked into a tampon case because I knew James would never look there. I pulled it out, laying the crumpled bills on the counter. The clock was continuing to tick and I looked out at the lot again. I was beginning to feel dizzy and my mouth had gone dry.

It took the clerk forever to ring me up. Though I was paying cash, he asked for my name, address, and zip code. Pointless. Ridiculous. I wanted to pay and get out of there. I counted to ten and the clerk still typed.

On the road, the light had turned red. Cars were waiting. I wondered if James was getting ready to turn into the lot. I wondered if he would see me leaving the store. It was hard for me to breathe again.

I tried to open the plastic packaging, but it was impossible—as strong as steel. Too big for my small handbag, too big for my pocket. I asked the clerk for a pair of scissors and it took him a precious minute to find one. I wanted to scream, to tell him to hurry because James would be here any minute. I turned toward the window instead.

When the phone was free, I jammed it into my jacket pocket along with the prepaid card. The clerk asked if I wanted a bag but I was out the door without answering. The phone felt like lead, and the snow and ice made it hard to keep my balance.

I opened the door of the salon and went back inside. I slipped off my jacket and gloves and waited by the register. Thirty seconds later, I saw James's car turn into the lot, angling toward the salon.

There was snow on my jacket and I quickly brushed at it as Rachel came toward me. I panicked at the thought that James might have noticed. I concentrated, urging myself to stay in control. To act natural.

"Did you forget something?" Rachel asked.

I exhaled. "I was going to wait outside but it's too cold," I explained. "And then I realized I didn't get your card."

Rachel's face lit up. "Oh, that's right. Hold on a second," she said. She walked toward her station and pulled a card from the drawer. I knew that James was watching me from inside the car, but I pretended not to notice.

Rachel returned with her business card and handed it over. "I usually don't work on Sundays or Mondays," she said.

I nodded. "I'll give you a call."

Behind me, I heard the door open and James was standing in the doorway. He usually didn't come inside and my heart pounded. I slipped my jacket back on, trying to control the trembling of my hands. Then, I turned and smiled.


End file.
